Collide
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Two of Mary's worlds collide when her father returns and she is forced to make a decision regarding her unborn child. Mary and Marshall relationship fluff. Story is complete with twenty-five chapters plus epilogue. Rated T for Mary's language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Trying my hand at some IPS fan-fiction. I own nothing related to the show – all characters and whatnot are property of their respective owners. I think I picked up most of the storyline correctly, and tried my best to get the legal jargon correct, but forgive me if there are any mistakes. **

The elevator made its telltale "ding" as Marshall and Stan slowly stepped out, staring into the glass doors that separated them from the office. There was Mary, sitting sedately at her desk – well, as sedately as Mary ever sat – hunched over a piece of paper on which she was writing. Marshall knew, even at this distance, that her free hand was on her stomach. He always thought it was funny the way she kept it there, as if constantly checking to make sure the baby was still inside. Almost nine months in, and the idea of being pregnant was still an enormous shock to her. Even when it was over, Marshall wondered whether she'd succumb to the fact that it had really happened.

Knowing he must've gone vacant, he turned to Stan and swallowed once. This should not be this hard. Relocations, findings, trappings, surprises, lost loved ones found…it was his life. He breathed it every single day. It was almost the routine that made it so exciting for Marshall. Each day was so similar, and yet so vastly different all at the same time. It was a moment before he realized he was staring at Stan.

"You have to tell her, Marshall," he said seriously.

"I know," Marshall replied tartly. "I said I would."

"We agreed that would be best," Stan reminded him. It was probably a good thing he had. "I don't want her getting worked up – not when she's this far along. It's going to upset her, but less coming from you. You know that Marshall."

The inspector was silent, gazing through the glass at Mary, wondering how he could possibly reveal something of this magnitude.

"Marshall?" Stan repeated, pulling him back to the present.

"Yeah…sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. "I know. You're right. She's in her third trimester and she's high-risk; giving her news like this could send her over the edge. I'll be careful."

"Good man," Stan reinforced the point with a hearty clap on Marshall's shoulder and marched forward, raising his hand to swipe his badge. He paused before doing so, taking the time to glance back at Marshall. "You ready?"

Marshall gulped again, and then nodded forcefully.

"Yeah. Let's go."

With a click and a beep, Stan ran his card through the slot and the door unlocked to admit them. They strode inside, all purpose, Marshall trying his very hardest to act ordinary. Mary was very astute. She'd pick up on something funny in an instant.

"Morning Mary," Stan said comfortably. She raised her hand in an irritable greeting, not looking up.

"How are you today?" Marshall said, so stiffly it was almost comical and he knew instantly it was a mistake. For blowing their secret before the time was right, no, but asking Mary how she was in her state was, at this point, pretty much a death wish.

Confirming his suspicions, Stan shot him a look but it was nothing compared to the one Mary gave him.

"How am I?" she repeated, eyes narrowed. Marshall smirked, trying to play their usual game.

"Well, let's see. I discovered this morning that I'm so knocked-up I can't see my feet anymore; I am roughly the size of a killer whale, and peeing like a drunken sailor every twenty minutes. How would you be, doofus?"

"Uh…sorry. My mistake," he muttered, still with half a smirk on his face.

"Then you're right where you should be," Stan said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Chained to your desk."

Mary threw him a look of deepest loathing and even Marshall had to admit Stan was showing quite a bit of nerve, especially considering what was to come.

"By the way," Mary continued, capping her pen and standing up, her chair sliding out underneath her. "Albuquerque PD keeps calling but they won't tell me why. They keep asking for one of you two bozos and if they're going to call ten thousand times in one morning they could at least cough up. You know what this is about?"

She said it so casually, so effortlessly, but it seared Marshall like a knife. He hadn't expected this to come up so quickly. And what the hell was wrong with everyone at ABQ PD? Where was Bobby D. with his discretion when you needed him?

Marshall and Stan exchanged a look, one that did not go unnoticed by Mary.

"What?" she prompted immediately, walking around and in front of her desk. "After sitting through that ringing phone for the last hour, I think I have a right to know on this one Stan."

She appealed to her boss, shaking her head slightly when neither one of them responded. Marshall knew Stan was waiting for him to take charge, but he'd tensed up unexpectedly.

"Come on, what?" she demanded, louder this time. She looked from one to the other, and then locked in on Marshall.

He knew then, he couldn't hide much longer.

"Marshall?"

She was staring at him now, eyes boring into his. She had been schooled to expect the truth from him, above anyone else, whether she admitted it or not.

"Mary…" he began his voice as calm and even as he could make it. "I think…we should go out on the terrace and…talk."

Stan nodded; he was already turning to retreat into his office.

"Talk? About what? Come on – Stan!" she called after him, and he turned briefly.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," he said quietly.

His door shut with a thud, leaving Marshall and Mary standing there, Marshall fighting every urge to take her arm and lead her outside as gently as he could. She hated any kind of coddling; she always had.

"All right, Mr. Wikipedia; what is it?"

Marshall stole away with the opportunity without even thinking.

"Actually, Wikipedia is a website that allows anyone to edit it, therefore making it an unreliable source and as I look strictly for only solid-based fact…"

"Jesus Marshall!" Mary interrupted. "Not before ten A.M."

She shook her head, annoyed as usual with his fountain of information.

"Encyclopedia or even dictionary would be more appropriate," he finished with some hesitation.

"Whatever," she snarled, but before he knew what was happening she had seized his arm and was dragging him out to the terrace with surprising speed considering her size at the moment.

The exterior door shut with a snap and the only sound was the whir of the box fans set into the wall. Mary shoved Marshall into the only chair at the spindly little black table in the corner. She remained standing, hands on her hips in rising agitation. Marshall suddenly remembered his promise to Stan about not getting her riled.

"What are you doing?" he found himself saying, his hands out, his palms up.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she spat. "You know, I can beat this out of you if you want. If this is about a witness, you better spit it out now. And why did you want to talk out here? What are we bugged or something?"

All of this fell off her lips very quickly. Marshall was zeroing in on them, somehow, and then upon the rest of her. She had on a red and black striped top; it was so long is almost reached her knees. Her hips were hugged in a pair of black leggings, topped off with her usual pair of boots. He could not understand, with all the complaining she did about how much her feet hurt, why she was still donning this particular item of clothing.

He knew he had to stop all these pointless ramblings going on inside his head. He needed to focus. Now was the time to do that. He had to be totally and completely present. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully.

"Mary, I want you to sit," he was not even halfway out of the chair before he heard her exasperated sigh. She had whirled around, hands going to her hair in frustration.

"God! What? What is it?" she ordered. "Don't do this to me, Marshall; you know I hate this! I don't want to sit; I don't want to have some discussion just -."

But Marshall cut her off. He wanted his intentions – his expectations – to be perfectly clear.

"Mary," he said sharply, taking her elbow in his hand as she tried to turn away again. She jerked around to face him. "I'm serious."

Though she clearly didn't like it, the tone in his voice must have suggested he wasn't fooling around in any way, shape, or form. She sighed loudly again, but wrenched her arm out of his grip and threw herself down in the chair.

"There," she said childishly. "I'm sitting. Now what?"

Marshall wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and took a step toward her. He slowly knelt down so they were face-to-face, and placed one hand on her knee. Her eyes were narrowing into slits. He should really act fast at his point to avoid her giving up on him, but he wanted to do this delicately.

"Mary…" he began. "Albuquerque PD was calling Stan and I because of a…case we helped them out with last night."

"So?" Mary snapped immediately. "This is earth-shattering because…?"

"They brought in a man who is a very high-security prisoner; he's been on the America's Most Wanted list for almost thirty years."

He wanted to stop, wanted to see if she could figure this out for herself before he got in too far, but he knew now that he'd started he had to keep going.

"He was in Albuquerque to…to visit someone and I guess he let his guard down…"

The realization was starting to hit her. He could see it in her eyes; they were widening with comprehension as he continued in his usual, matter-of-fact tone. But Mary wasn't just some witness. She was…

"He was picked up for his crimes of multiple bank robberies throughout the country; he had a fake ID on him but his photo matched the one in records and he's-,"

"Marshall!" the bite to her voice was gut-wrenching. He closed his eyes, resigned, and pulled the report from his jacket pocket and felt it pass from his fingers into hers.

"Oh sweet Jesus…" she whispered, so quietly he barely heard.

"He's…" Marshall swallowed. "James Wiley Shannon. Fugitive."

He let himself be enveloped in silence, pulling back from her slightly, his hand sliding from her knee. She was gazing, her mouth partially open, at the police file in her hands; brand new mug-shot, the signatures of people who had seen him just eight hours ago. After what he considered an appropriate amount of time, he ventured a word or two.

"Mary?" he said softly.

"He's here?" she responded, quicker than Marshall was expecting. "In…in Albuquerque?" her voice was hushed, her eyes darting up to meet Marshall's.

"Yes," Marshall replied. "He's in custody at the county jail awaiting trial."

"Awaiting trial," Mary scoffed, shaking her head from side-to-side. The josh appeared more to herself than to Marshall. "Who knows about this?" she recovered quickly, flashing the report in his face.

"A couple people at Albuquerque PD, me, and Stan. Nobody else; Stan and I worked very hard to keep this quiet until we could talk to you."

She looked into his eyes. He was so earnest; his desire to hold everything under wraps just for her was endearing to say the least. But there were more pressing matters on her mind right now.

"Does Nancy Drew know?"

"Who?" Marshall furrowed his brow.

"Abigail" Mary sighed, rolling her eyes.

Marshall hesitated only for a second, casting his gaze to the cement very briefly before looking back up.

"Yes. Abigail knows."

Mary didn't know what she was supposed to think about that. She wasn't sure rationale would catch up with her senses; the fact that Marshall had-had to talk to somebody at the police department and he had chosen the one he trusted the most. That was tactful on some level.

"Why is he here?" Mary continued, all of this rattling through her brain at breakneck speed.

Marshall allowed his hand to crawl back onto her leg. To his surprise, she didn't knock it out of the way. This act of tolerance encouraged him to squeeze briefly before relaxing against her leggings.

"Do you remember…I said he came to visit someone. At least, that's what he told the detective who brought him in."

He stared, hard, into her face, willing her to understand her father's purpose for being here. She shook her head again, her breathing growing louder and more shallow. This was passing quickly into dangerous waters.

"Mary…" Marshall ventured, but she didn't let him continue.

"That could be Jinx or Brandi – maybe he's looking for them…" she offered.

"I don't think so," Marshall said quickly, trying to sabotage the thought before it formed.

"How do you know?" the anger was definitely surfacing now; was there any stopping it?

"Mary, he has been trekking cross-country for almost four months…"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes and…"

"You saw him?"

She'd jumped up; Marshall followed suit, determined to at least keep her within range if she did anything unwise.

"I wanted to find out what was going on. I needed to talk to him. For you," he emphasized. He was very distinct; unwavering.

Mary was breathing fast now; Marshall wasn't sure she'd even heard him.

"I'm gonna have to tell Brandi and Jinx – mom is going to lose her mind – I-I-I can't believe he's – after all these years…"

She was cutting through it now; her eyes had fallen from Marshall's. She seemed to have forgotten he was there. He was determined to fix that, however.

"Mary, calm down," he implored. He'd been afraid of this.

"I'm…I'm dizzy…Marshall, I'm dizzy…" and she actually swayed where she stood; one hand grabbed the brick wall to try and steady herself, but her knees wobbled dangerously.

"Okay, sit down. Please – sit down," he yanked the chair from the table and offered it to her, but she sunk straight to the ground, sweeping her hair out of her face. This was strangely familiar. It reminded him forcefully of her PTSD-induced episodes after she had been abducted. He crouched next to her, just as he had done on that day.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed. "You do not need to do anything. Stan and I will talk to Brandi and your mom. The only thing you need to do is relax; this kind of stress could be very bad for the baby."

She was breathing deeply all right; he was scared she might hyperventilate.

"Slow down…slow down," he said softly. "You're all right."

He waited patiently while her heaving started to subside. Hesitantly, he reached over and started rubbing her back in neat circles. After several moments, he saw her swallow and shake her head as though to clear it.

"Better?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," she gulped, nodding. "Yes. Would you get me a glass of water?"

"Yes," Marshall said immediately, jumping to his feet. "I'll be right back; sit tight."

He bolted back through the door and jogged to the sink. There were no glasses in the cupboard, he soon found as he started to rummage above in the cabinets. He glanced low to see who was in the conference room – Delia was doing paperwork with a witness. He looked into Stan's office and found that Stan was looking at him as well. He stuck his head in, just in case the other man had anything to say.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Not well," Marshall answered truthfully. "But as can be expected I suppose. Do you have any glasses? I need to get Mary some water."

"Yeah, sure," Stan stood and pulled a mug from inside his desk drawer. It was navy blue and had the US Marshal Logo painted on it in gold.

"Thanks," Marshall told him. He turned to go, but Stan's voice called him back.

"Marshall," he said. The inspector turned. "Remember, this isn't about doing it right. It wasn't going to be easy; we both knew that. It's about doing our best."

Marshall nodded and left the room. After filling the mug with water, he headed back to the terrace. Mary was standing now, her arms splayed across the cement wall that separated them from the ground. Marshall approached her cautiously.

"Here," he said, stepping in next to her. "Drink up."

She took the mug, but didn't drink. She didn't look at him either. She was staring at something beyond – something he couldn't see.

"Why now?" she suddenly turned to him. "It's been thirty years…why now?"

Marshall leaned in beside her, bracing himself for what came next.

"Mary, I think he knows that you're pregnant," his voice was staccato and exact.

She stepped back, looking at him quizzically, her eyebrows narrowed and a strange smile playing on her face. There was nothing happy about that smile.

"You think?"

"He knows," Marshall corrected himself. "He knows you're pregnant."

"How could he possibly know that?" she shot back.

"You said he's found a way of keeping tabs on you; the man is a highly-skilled felon; he…"

"Pregnant, but not an expectant mother!" Mary spat. "Did you tell him that?"

"I didn't think it was my place."

It seemed she didn't know what to say to that, but she moved onto something else.

"Why would that matter anyway?" she wondered aloud. "He didn't raise me or Brandi or…Scott or Lauren or whatever the hell my other supposed-sister's name is! Now he thinks he's gonna be a papa or a grandfather or some role model to this kid?"

"I don't know," Marshall said honestly. "I really don't. Drink. You'll get dehydrated."

Out of habit, due to spending so much time obeying Marshall, she took a sip. The drink seemed to surge more life into her, but in a different way. Strange, the way water could light a fire in her heart.

"I don't understand!" she burst, droplets of water flying. Marshall extended a hand to try and quiet her, but this time it was shoved away. He should've known that gesture would only get by one time.

"How did he manage this? How the hell did he manage to slink his way back into my life during _this_ time!" she gestured emphatically toward her stomach, growing rounder by the day.

"Mary, the man has avoided capture by the federal government for nearly three decades; this could hardly be considered surprising…"

"Marshall I…" she started to cut him off, but then had no idea what to say. She backed away from him, shaking her head still, one hand running frantically through her hair. Marshall knew it wasn't smart to let her get this agitated. He stepped slowly her direction.

"I need to tell you this now, and then it's all out in the open."

"Jesus – what next?" she raged, throwing up her hands.

"Relax. Just stay with me, okay?"

There was a pause, his palms poised in front of him while he waited for her understanding. She finally nodded, but let her hands fall to her back where he knew it was aching her lately. He wanted to ask again if she'd be more comfortable sitting, but it was probably best to continue at this point.

"James has been a wanted fugitive since at least the early eighties…"

"Yeah, you mentioned," Mary snarked.

"As such, he is heavily guarded and cannot have visitors."

There was a definite raise of her eyebrow at these words, but Marshall plowed on through.

"Stan and I pulled some strings. If you _want_ to see him," he emphasized this on purpose. "We can call and Abigail will set it up for you and Jinx and Brandi, but it has to be done before Friday. They're going to have to transfer him before his trial."

Mary sighed and closed her eyes. Marshall, scrutinizing closely, noticed her wince.

"Are you okay?" he asked, fairly certain this didn't have to do with the situation at hand.

"Yeah, fine," she muttered. "It's my Goddamn back; I swear to you, this kid is going to come out backwards. It'll be the slasher movie of the year."

She sounded so like herself, and this should've eased Marshall's mind, but it just frightened him. Her entire life seemed to be defined by her father's abandonment. Now, he was here. Thirty years without him, of waiting and wondering, of wishing and hoping, and she was reverting back into the same old Mary.

"Did you hear what I said?" he risked asking.

She nodded; she seemed to be considering, her eyes vacant and journeying skyward as though asking for help.

"Friday?" she said quietly.

"Before then would be preferable," Marshall answered. "Listen to me Mary…"

He was closer now, close enough to touch her. In fact, now that he came to chance a look, he was touching her – the very tip of her round belly at least. She didn't flinch or seem to mind. She was looking at him as though he could explain everything away, as though he could make everything better. It was only advice that he gave, however.

"I know this choice is going to be hard for you," he started. "Whether you see him or you don't see him, I know it'll be whatever is best for you. But I want you to think about what you want here – not Brandi, not Jinx, not even James. You have another hard decision right around the corner, and you do not need the added stress."

Her eyes followed his, probing slowly back and forth like some dim spotlight. The consideration he gave her was so admirable.

"I…want to help you," apparently he wasn't finished being matter-of-fact. "And I know you can't stand it when people coddle you; that's not what I'm doing."

"So what are you doing?" Mary asked. She was curious more than anything else.

"I just know how you must be feeling and I want to…" he was growing stiffer with every word that escaped him. He shouldn't be the one getting so emotional.

"Want to what, Marshall?" Mary prompted.

Her stomach brushed between them and this spurred Marshall on. Ironically, he stepped back and slowly extended his arms out in front of him. It took her less than a second – much quicker than Marshall could've ever anticipated. She fell into his grasp, lost in his grip and his touch. She didn't shed a tear, but Marshall could feel how tense she was all over. That is, until she heaved an enormous sigh, her hair falling in waves down her back. All the tension vanished as she patted his shoulder with her hand and let her head relax into his chest.

"Thank-you Marshall," she said quietly.

He returned her pat with a squeeze of her nearest shoulder.

"No problem," he assured her.

When he cast his eyes to the window, he saw Stan give him the thumbs up from inside his office.

**A/N: Sorry chapter one is so long! The others aren't so novelistic. Please review – would love the feedback!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Will likely be putting up two chapters sometimes, because there are ones that are more of a "transition" where nothing significant happens. Standard disclaimer applies – do not own characters or anything else. Please read A/N at the end also…**

It was the first time in her entire career as a US Marshal that she'd gone home early. Strictly speaking, she didn't really know if 7 o'clock at night qualified as "early" but she had actually packed her things and left the office when Stan told her to. That had to be some kind of a record.

She was tired. So tired. That was the only reason she'd done it, Mary told herself. She was going to fall asleep at her desk otherwise, drooling and snoring, a true embarrassment of riches. Besides, what was she supposed to do once Marshall had called and made arrangements to meet Brandi and Jinx for dinner? He had said she didn't need to be there, and she'd taken him at his word.

She slept. And slept and slept, but it was as though she was watching herself from above, eyes on her snoozing body buried under the covers. There were no dreams. Only black, but for the occasional jolt of color she couldn't even place. She hated to think that her senses, her intuition and instincts, were becoming somehow damaged.

It was nearly three A.M. when she finally stirred. She wasn't sure at first what had woken her. Even through her closed lids, she could tell that the hall light was on. It was a hoarse voice that brought her back.

"Mary?" came the sound of her younger sister.

Mary rolled over – slowly – and peered into the doorway to see Brandi's head sticking through the crack. Seemingly taking this to mean, "come on in" Brandi ventured further forward, leaving the door open behind her. She climbed carefully onto the end of the bed, sitting cross-legged at Mary's feet. Once Mary herself had sat up and was leaning against the headboard, Brandi spoke again.

"How are you? How are you feeling?"

Blearily, Mary saw Brandi how she used to see her all the time – little, alone, lost, and desperate. It was very hard to view her otherwise when she had been the same for so long. Even now, she was dressed in sweatpants and a tank-top which used to be her outfit of choice when she spent so many years bunking on Mary's couch.

In thinking about all this, Mary realized she hadn't responded.

"Mary?" Brandi prompted. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "Yeah I'm…I'm fine."

"Okay," Brandi replied softly. "Did I wake you?"

"It is three o'clock in the morning," Mary reminded her, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "But I've been asleep since 7:30."

"Oh gosh…are you all right?" Brandi repeated, but caught herself quickly. "I'm sorry, I…I already asked you that," she looked at the bedspread shamefully.

"Brandi, I'm pregnant; I don't know why people think I have this force field over me that automatically means I can't handle myself anymore."

"Well, maybe it's because you never come home before ten o'clock, let alone go to sleep before that time of night!"

Brandi's voice was rising hysterically. Experience told Mary that she wouldn't be able to keep it in check very long.

"And it's not like it's every day our father comes back into the picture-!" she stopped shouting abruptly, looking wild and out-of-breath. Leave it to Brandi to blurt it out that way. Without warning, her face crumpled and she began to cry. She hid her eyes behind her fingers, her body wracking with sobs as tears dropped onto the comforter one-by-one.

Resigned, Mary extended a hand and touched Brandi's leg, sighing as she did so. Brandi looked up, her mascara running, and saw that her sister had one arm out, indicating a hug. She sniffed and scooted over, embracing Mary one-armed.

"It's okay Squish," Mary said in her obligatory way. She could feel her shaking. "We'll figure this out."

"You do know this isn't about dad, right?" Brandi blubbered from behind Mary's back.

"Then what is it about?" she asked calmly. "Wait – what is _what_ about?"

Brandi pulled away from her, hiccupping slightly from the tears and wiped her eyes with her thumb.

"I'm not upset about dad," she continued.

"Well, you could've fooled me," Mary scoffed, with the sarcasm as usual.

"Mary, I'm so worried about you!" she burst, which brought on another cascade of tears and renewed sobs.

"Squish-Squish, what are you talking about?" Mary practically had to shout herself to be heard over Brandi's wailing. This didn't seem to do any good, however, and she had to go over the edge. "Brandi – BRANDI! Stop!"

She waved her hands in front of her sister's face in an attempt to make her see. Swallowing hard, Brandi did as asked.

"I promised myself I wouldn't do this," Brandi admitted, shaking her head. "I swore I wouldn't get so emotional."

"Well, I hate to break it to you but we're way past that point already," Mary lamented. "We're already in the foxhole ready for the fire. So what's going on?"

"I was so worried about how you'd take this – dad coming back," Brandi started to explain.

"Wait a minute; Marshall told me he was breaking the news tonight. I found out this morning – how did that give you any time to fret over it?" Mary wanted to know.

"Mary, I was worried the minute I heard! You're not the only one who gets concerned about her family!"

"Well, concerned would be stretching it…" Mary mumbled in an undertone.

"Regardless," Brandi interrupted. "Dad leaving killed you; I didn't want you shutting yourself out and hiding getting news like this. I didn't want anything to happen to the baby, I didn't want…"

"Okay-okay," Mary sighed, holding up her hands. "I think I get it."

She was finding it hard to wrap her mind around all this. Admittedly, she never really believed Brandi thought about anyone but herself. Despite her sister's insistence that she had changed "since Peter" Mary hadn't really latched on to the idea. She knew it wasn't fair, and she knew it upset Brandi, but she had-had too many negative experiences involving her past to let her guard down where Brandi was concerned. Yet, here she was – from the sound of it; she hadn't even given their father a second thought, but jumped straight to Mary's well-being. Now she came to think of it, this was hardly surprising. Brandi didn't even remember a time when James was in the picture. She'd never known anything different than Mary's taking care of her. Their father's reappearance wouldn't mean nearly as much to her as it would to – say – Jinx. Or, it seemed, Mary.

"Can I do something for you?" Brandi was suddenly saying. "Please? I want to help."

"You're the second person to say that to me today," Mary muttered.

"What?" Brandi leaned close, trying to hear.

"Nothing," Mary shook her head. "If you're dying to do me a favor, you can rub my feet. They are hellishly swollen; they're like two bloated sausages. I am seriously expecting them to burst apart any day."

With a hint of a smile, Brandi nodded and hopped off the bed. She pulled the covers back, regained her seat, and swung Mary's feet into her lap. They were already bare, but warm from the heat of the blanket.

"Geez Mare," Brandi said, not bothering to keep the laugh out of her voice. "They really are huge."

"Seriously?" Mary shot her a look. "You're going to reinforce that point now?"

Brandi chuckled, but didn't say anything else and did as Mary had asked her. For awhile, the two sisters sat in silence. The rhythmic rubbing was putting Mary into a kind of trace, but she knew the talk was coming and she figured she might as well get it out of the way as soon as possible.

"That feels good Squish," she told her, deciding to start with something light. "Thanks."

"Mary…" Brandi clearly wasn't going to be baited into simplicity. "Are you going to go see him?"

She had sensed this coming too. She'd thought about it all day at work; the fate of her files for the afternoon could stand to be checked in the morning. It was so horribly unnerving being this distracted and wrung-out. How was she to deal with it? She didn't exactly have experience.

Her mind shifted back to Brandi's question.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Are you?"

"Mary, you have to see him. He's everything to you."

"Brandi, look…" she shook her head, slightly troubled by this view of her existence. "Whatever dad is at this point, it's not everything. Trust me on that."

"He ruined your life when he left; you can't tell me he didn't. I feel like you walk around with that every single day, and I just think that seeing him could…"

"What?" Mary snapped, patience thinning by the second. "What? Replace it? Make it better? Tie everything up in a little bow?"

"Well, not in so many words, but…" Brandi continued thoughtfully.

"I don't need you making this decision for me," Mary jerked and her feet fell out of Brandi's grasp. She threw the covers back and hoisted herself out of bed. What she was going to do once she got up, she really didn't know but Brandi solved that problem by rising herself. She stood in her way and blocked her path. This, if anything, infuriated Mary further.

"Get out of my way; I have to pee…"

Brandi ignored her.

"Mary, don't you see? I'm trying to help you!" she pleaded, hands actually clasped in front of her as though in prayer.

"I don't need your help!" Mary exploded.

"Yes, you do!"

Brandi's tone was so forceful, it actually surprised Mary; it was close to knocking her off-balance. She stared at her sister – Squish – and wondered what she could possibly help her with at this moment. She didn't know anything – any at all – when it came to their father. This was so much more complicated than she could ever imagine.

"I don't mean helping you figure out what to do about dad – I don't want to choose what you do!" Brandi waved her hand at the door, as though to indicate the jail cell in which he awaited somewhere beyond.

"Then what the hell do you mean?"

"Mary, you're my sister!" she implored, stepping toward her. "I know I'm just stupid little Squish to you, but I am smart enough to know that dad leaving really screwed you up! I just want to be here for you!"

Brandi's already hoarse tone was becoming more like sandpaper the longer she spoke – the longer she hollered.

"What if I don't want you to be here for me?" Mary said harshly. It was the only way to ward off her already strong suspicions that she was some weak little flower.

"You need me!"

"I don't!"

"You do!"

"I DON'T!"

"You need _someone_!"

The argument had spiked Mary's agitation to the breaking point. She said it – she screamed it actually – the words that tasted like bile on her tongue and that she swore she would never admit out loud.

"I need _him_!"

She became dizzy, just as she had that morning while trying to fight through it with Marshall. To steady herself and clear her head, she pitched forward onto her knees. She didn't know admission could be this taxing. What she'd just shouted was echoing in her ears – no wait, maybe she was just saying it again.

"I need him! I need dad! I've always needed him! And he left! He left me; he left you, he left mom! He left when I needed him!"

She said the rest to the floor; she was afraid if she looked up she would be sick.

"I miss him! Goddamn it; I've missed him for thirty years! He's a son of a bitch and I know I should hate him but…"

She didn't even realize she was crying until the soft touch of Brandi's fingers lifted her chin from the carpet and brought her back to earth.

"Mary…Mary please…its okay…"

Through her watery eyes, she saw Brandi as something more than an idiotic, niave, dependent baby sister. She was her friend.

It was with this thought that she allowed Brandi to take her hand and guide her back into an upright position. Still clouded, it was as though she was watching herself from afar again, seeing herself a sobbing, blubbering mess. She couldn't feel it. It was perhaps this that made her hug Brandi for the second time that night, crying on her shoulder.

"You're okay…its okay…" Brandi whispered. "I know it sounds super dumb right now, but you've proven you don't need him. You think you do, but you took care of me, you took care of mom – you don't need him for anything. If you go see him, you can start to put it behind you."

Mary was still crying, and so she missed most of this. Brandi, facing the doorway, heard the front unlock and saw Peter step inside carrying a bag which she knew to contain Mary's favorite muffins. He paused in the living room when he saw the two of them clinging to each other. He flashed Brandi the look of deepest concern before she shook her head to reassure him.

"I've got her."

**A/N: Mary's meltdown is not meant to be some drastic character change; trust me when I tell you she will revert back for future chapters. But those of us who watch the show know that when the stakes are high enough and the cards are on the line, Mary is bound to lose her cool. This was one of those times. Enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Own nothing…**

It wasn't until Brandi had left the room that Mary fully registered what had just happened. Was that why her eyes stung? Was that why she couldn't breathe out her nose? Her back was still aching too, and cramps were coursing across her lower abdomen. She knew this didn't have to do with the ordeal at hand – or at least, she didn't think so. What was it Marshall had said?

_Stomach cramping is very common in the last trimester. It is a sign that the body is preparing the woman for labor._

Great.

As the fog began to lift, she remembered Brandi had gone out to sit with Peter. Mary didn't even know if she'd been home to see him since getting the news, though it was clear she had at least clued him in. His appearance proved that.

Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was just after 4:00 now. Well, she probably wouldn't have slept anymore anyway.

She supposed she had some sort of obligation to go out and see Peter, or at least to smooth things over with Brandi. She was wearing a pair of matching pajamas; light blue. She hated them, but they were motivation to the fact that they wouldn't fit after she popped the kid. Refusing to sport them in front of guests, even if the guests were just Brandi and Peter, she delved into her closet for something else. She unearthed a pair of baggy grey sweatpants and sweatshirt that used to belong to Raph. Nothing else was big enough – at least, nothing comfortable.

While she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, she felt a sharp stab to the left side of her stomach.

"Jesus," her hand jumped to the spot and she rubbed it slightly, not really sure what that might do.

Was this what Marshall was talking about? Was it something else? Was it the real thing? Damn – why did she let that six-foot-information-spewing doofus lure her into a false sense of security? She didn't know anything.

When the pain subsided, she made her way out into the kitchen where Brandi and Peter were sitting on the bar stools at the counter. At the sound of her footsteps, they both stopped talking and turned to her. Peter, who was on the inside, slid off his stool and walked a few steps around the counter.

"Hi Mary," he greeted her; his demeanor was always so soft and sweet. Brandi really was lucky.

She nodded to show she'd heard him and shuffled closer.

"Take my seat – have a muffin," he offered, holding up the bag.

"Thanks," she said quietly, accepting the bag.

She found, however, that getting onto the stool was too much of a chore anymore. It was too high for her to lift herself onto without promptly sliding back off. Noticing her predicament, Peter reached out and took her hand, giving her the support she needed to ease into the spot.

"You know I…I haven't seen you for awhile," Peter continued.

True, he hadn't. Not on purpose or anything – she'd taken to avoiding the family as she became more rotund.

"You look really good," he said kindly.

Mary really had to fight not to snap back with some less-kind retort. She did not look good and feared she never would again. Especially now.

"I look enormous," she settled on. It was a fact, wasn't it?

Peter chuckled.

"You can still look decent, even enormous," he said. "You know, those muffins aren't going to eat themselves."

Mary realized she was still holding the bag, but hadn't opened it. She unfurled the top and reached in; there were three apple cinnamons, her favorite.

"You shouldn't have given me the entire bag; there's not going to be any left for you two."

"They're not for us – they're for you," Peter said. "All three of them."

"Don't toy with me," Mary said, biting off the top of the first muffin, her mouth full. "If only I could stand some coffee to go along without puking my guts up."

Brandi laughed quietly, and Mary turned to her. She looked different, somehow. There was definitely concern dancing in her eyes, but it was clear she didn't want to act on it this time.

"I'd ignore the meltdown if I were you, Squish," Mary said, still stuffing herself full of muffin. "It's these damn hormones. Christ, tomorrow I could be happier than some proverbial Santa Claus about this whole thing. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Brandi murmured cautiously.

"Duh. Marshall explained it all," she polished off the first muffin and reached for the second.

Brandi didn't look convinced.

"By the way…" Mary continued with another bite. "Where's mom? I thought she'd be breaking down the door with her theatrics. Or is she turning to the bottle instead?"

"Mary, don't say that," Brandi implored, looking somewhere between thunderstruck and also resigned, as if she expected Mary to say that very thing.

"It wouldn't be the first time," she reminded her.

"She went home," Brandi ignored the second remark and answered the original question. "If I'd been worried about what she might do, I would've gone with her."

"Your sister's been very doting about this whole thing," Peter suddenly chimed in, slinging his arm around the shoulder of his bride-to-be. "It's admirable."

Mary chewed as she watched Brandi lean up to kiss Peter's cheek in gratitude. What would James say when he learned of this development? Of course, Mary reminded herself, it was entirely possible he already knew Brandi was about to become Mrs. Alpert. He knew Mary was knocked-up. What else could he have uncovered? The thought made her uneasy and also caused another slash to her abdomen and she winced, not finding time to hide the vulnerability.

"Ah…" she moaned loudly. "Shit," she bent her head to try and ward off some of the spikes and in the process, dropped her half-eaten muffin.

"What's the matter?" Peter said at once.

"Are you okay?" Brandi wanted to know.

She couldn't answer for a minute. This wave was longer. Against her will, she actually had to breathe deeply a few times to cope with the intensity. Here she had sworn she wouldn't succumb to such embarrassingly weak-willed displays of panting and puffing, and her body had gone and betrayed her.

"Forget it…" she managed between breaths.

Peter was next to her quicker than she could blink. Why was he here? He wasn't family. He wasn't Marshall. What the hell did he know?

"Breathe slow…can I get you something, maybe some water?" he offered.

"I'll get it!" Brandi declared, jumping from her seat.

"No-no, come on, I'm fine," she insisted as the pain tapered away. "I've talked about all of it with Marshall; he said it's normal in the last trimester."

"It's the stress!" Brandi suddenly decided, filling a glass at the sink. "I told you, you need the support!"

"And I told _you_ that I can take care of myself!"

Brandi opened her mouth to respond, but her phone erupted in a fit of buzzing on the counter, making Mary jump. Damn it. Her reflexes were better than this.

Brandi picked up the cell and checked the caller ID.

"It's mom. I'll talk to her in the bedroom," she decided, jogging in and shutting the door.

Mary shook her head, annoyed at all of this late-night supposed-frivolity with muffins; why did she have to make an effort for these people at the crack of dawn? It was ridiculous. She would be so much better off if they would just leave her alone.

Peter leaned down next to her, his elbows on the counter. Something told her she was about to get a lecture.

"Brandi really is concerned for you Mary," he said quietly. "And so am I."

"Look – our con man father's back in town; so what? He's still a fugitive, he's still a liar; he still abandoned us and if you think I'm letting him turn my life upside-down then…"

Peter cut her off.

"Mary, you _can_ take care of yourself. Everybody knows it. Nothing changes it. Hell, I wish I'd learned to do the same before I was thirty."

She stared at him, narrowing her eyebrows, wondering what this was supposed to be telling her. In the distance, she heard Brandi giving a report of her well-being to Jinx. She turned back to Peter.

"But just because you _can_ do it…"

He reached out and put his hand on top of hers.

"Doesn't mean you have to."

**A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying this so far! The plot is fairly simple…it's the richness of the show, it's characters, and the sharp writing I am trying to master.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank-you for those who have reviewed – glad you are enjoying! Standard disclaimer; own nothing related to IPS…**

Technically, could she be woken up if she hadn't actually gone to sleep? It felt that way, and yet she knew she hadn't dozed off. She'd have to ask Marshall.

It was her cell phone that did it. It was sitting on the nightstand as she stared into oblivion, as she'd been doing since 5:30 when Brandi and Peter had finally gone home. Images of her father, old photographs, a younger, more drunken Jinx, a wailing baby Brandi and torn up letters floated across her vision for five uninterrupted hours. It wasn't until 9:00 that the cell started vibrating and she noticed just how much of the sun had already started to stream through her windows. A new day – a new dawn.

She groped without trying to move too much. Despite not resting, she had finally managed to get comfortable with all the Braxton hicks – wasn't that what they were called? – and didn't want to upset the sensation any further. Her fingers curled around the shaking and she pulled it to her.

"Hello?" she said groggily. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow without wincing.

"Mary-Mary, quite contrary," sang Stan's voice. "How are we this morning?"

"How are _we_?" she snapped, irritable from lack-of-sleep.

"How are _you_?" he managed to correct himself.

"Awful, thank-you," she responded in kind. "What's up?"

"Well, I hate to bother you…"

"Clearly," she said sarcastically, shifting onto her elbow.

"But a couple of your witnesses could use some tending to; I tried to pass them on to Marshall in light of the circumstances…"

"Wait, what?" she demanded, anger rising just knowing that they had taken their coddling to this level. "You were going to give my witnesses to Marshall – just because my dirt bag father is back in town…"

"No," Stan interrupted. "You'll have to give some of them up when you take your maternity leave. You're full-term Mary; the baby could come any day…"

"Stan, I told you!" she shouted, heart beginning to race just thinking about having to explain again. "I am not taking a maternity leave! This is not maternity – I am not maternal! I am not a mother; not now, not ever! It is a waste of time to sit around after this thing is purged from the-!"

"Okay," Stan said sharply. "Shut up; you're going to give yourself hypertension."

"Did you just tell me to shut up?"

"The point is!" Stan's voice rose; clearly, he was becoming desperate in getting his message across. "You'll notice I said I _tried_ to get Marshall to take on the extra witnesses but he wouldn't do it. Therefore, I need you to come in when it's convenient."

He sighed; Mary could actually picture him sitting in his office, strung-out from all the frustration she was causing him. She kind of enjoyed it.

"When it's convenient?" she finally repeated, glancing at the alarm clock to make sure of the time.

"That's what I said. But I want to make this very clear Mary, whatever it is that they need, you are _not_ going out in the field," Stan said sternly.

"I know the drill Stan…"

"I'm serious, Mary. And I'm not going to pretend this is just about the kind of inquiry we would get if you were injured in the line of duty while you're nine months pregnant. I will not have you getting hurt."

"Yeah-yeah," she said with a groan as she rolled herself out of bed.

A most peculiar sensation passed through her middle once she was upright. It was as though a watermelon had fallen through the lower half of her stomach. Her grip on the phone slipped, but she managed to hang on. Instinctually, she put a hand to her belly and took a deep breath. What the hell? She tried to rationalize – the baby could not just fall out.

It took her a minute before she realized that Stan was still talking.

"Mary? Hello? Are you still there?"

She pushed it out of her mind for the time being. What was to be gained from dwelling? She was just the oven anyway.

"What?" she snapped, a little harsher than she intended. But Stan's chirping was getting irritating.

"Have you been paying attention?"

"Actually, I was looking for my feet. They seem to have disappeared. Think you could put on an APD on that?"

"Marshall will be by in an hour to pick you up," Stan informed her, ignoring her remark.

"Jesus, Stan! Give me a break! I can drive myself!" Mary barked irritably.

What was the matter with these people? It was as though the person she really was had completely faded from their minds just because she was lugging another one along. It was bugging the hell out of her.

Stan didn't seem to care, however.

"You know, I thought about you being your own escort – God knows it would give Marshall a break – but I was considering your ability to get in and out of the Probe. Think you can manage?"

He'd won. He knew it.

"I hate you."

"Copy that. See you in sixty, inspector."

**A/N: This is maybe my favorite chapter. Not much happening, but the dialogue really flowed for me. Hope you all agree!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Nothing belonging to IPS is mine…**

Looking into the mirror on the back of the bathroom door after her shower, Mary was met with a wholly unpleasant sight.

Christ almighty, she was bigger today than she had been yesterday. Was that even possible? She'd have to ask Marshall. Just add it to the list.

She couldn't even see her toes in the mirror. And her stretch marks were seriously grotesque. Something told her she wasn't going to forget having this kid long after it was already on a train to the Templeton's. Which reminded her – she was supposed to meet with them tomorrow. Shit.

Determined not to look in a mirror again until she could expect a better picture, Mary hoisted the baggy sweatpants back on and threw another old T-shirt over her head. She suspected this one might've belonged to Mark – it was like him to forget and leave it behind. He'd probably done it on purpose to get her fantasizing about their time together. That'd be just like him too.

Padding back into the bedroom barefoot, she flung open the closet doors and sifted through the hangers for something to wear. It became pointless work very early in – she could tell just by looking that nothing there was going to fit. She'd had to bite the bullet and buy maternity clothes when she was just five months along. She'd thought she could make it longer but when they'd stopped buttoning and her neck had been too fat to even yank over a tank-top, she'd had to concede defeat. Still though – this was ridiculous. How could she go into the office in one of these unsightly tops? She wouldn't be looking like some two-bit slut.

A knock on the front door startled her. Whirling around, she looked at the clock. It was just after ten already. How long had she been standing there?

Leaving the closet doors open, she pattered as quickly as she was able to let Marshall in. He was wearing one of his usual button-up shirts – this one a pale blue – and holding a paper bag, just as Peter had been last night. He grinned hopefully, holding it up.

"Donuts?"

She snatched the bag and sniffed eagerly, peering inside to see three chocolate glazed with sprinkles.

"Sweet Jesus…" she whispered in ecstasy.

"Good morning to you too," Marshall said with a chuckle, stepping inside.

Without thinking, Mary put one foot forward, two hands on Marshall's face and kissed him – smack on the lips. It was brief, but definitely took him by surprise. He'd seen her do the same to Eleanor when she had found evidence to clear Stan's name two years ago, but never expected that particular brand of gratitude.

The lip-lock didn't last – not because of the spirit in which it was intended – but for something a lot-less pleasant. Mary pulled away from him in an instant, hands still stuck to his face.

"Did you have coffee this morning?"

Her face showed complete trepidation. Strange, how she never faltered when staring down the barrel of the gun but one whiff of the traditional bean sent her spinning.

"I…um…" Marshall stuttered stupidly.

But he knew it was no good to lie. Her aversion to the beverage was so strong there wouldn't be any fooling her – or her stomach.

"Marshall!" she burst, her hand flying to her mouth, her feet thundering across the floor to the bathroom.

The look in her eyes wouldn't soon leave him. It was one of pure misery, and he meant every word of it when he shouted to her retreating back, "I'm sorry…!"

It was too late. At nine months and over thirty pounds heavier, she wasn't quick enough to make it to the toilet. Admittedly, Marshall was hoping her reflexes as a US Marshal might save her that embarrassment, but it seemed he was wrong. She must've known she was several steps short, because she flung out a hand to the wall in the arch to the hallway and coughed up all three muffins from the night before.

Marshall's insides felt a little queasier at this display, but he managed to hide it and jogged over to help – or, at least attempt to help.

"I am sorry," he repeated. "I didn't forget, I just…"

It was pointless; she was still heaving and wasn't listening anyway. Slowly, he reached out and pulled her wet hair into his hands to keep it out of her face. He stood, crouched with one hand rubbing her back, the other growing damp from her locks until she finished retching.

"Damn it…" she sputtered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "This is gonna be a bitch to clean up."

"I can take care of it," Marshall offered, allowing her to take his hand so she could stand up.

"I should think so," she said heartlessly.

"I didn't know you were going to kiss me!" he reminded her defensively.

She scowled darkly and he decided to close that topic of discussion at once.

"Am I to assume you're not coming in to work?" he ventured, guiding her back into the bedroom.

"Why the hell would you say that? Those porcelain beauties at the office not up to the hovel I've got here at home to barf in?"

"No…" Marshall said calmly. "You're not dressed."

She'd completely forgotten. Looking down, she remembered the sweatpants and Mark's T-shirt. It was starting to smell strongly of vomit.

"Nothing fits," she pouted, but not without her usual hint of defiance, arms crossed over her middle.

Without asking, Marshall went to her closet and started pawing through the hangers. Mary decided he could do what he wanted. He'd find out the truth soon enough anyway.

"What about this?" he asked, holding up a long top with grey and black stripes. "It looks big enough."

The idea of Marshall in her closet, practically trying on her clothes, was starting to amuse Mary a little. Didn't he see what a girl he looked like?

"It has stripes," she spat.

"So…?" Marshall clearly was not catching on.

"I am the size of a house!" she flung herself forward so she was in his face. "Do you have any idea how much bigger I'd look in horizontal stripes?

"Since when do you care what you look like?" Marshall asked, smirking slightly. "Forgive me for saying so, but you're not exactly what I'd call a fashionista."

"Nope," Mary said, yanking the hanger from his hand. "That's your department."

Marshall curtseyed good-naturedly, which only made her frown deeper. He bowed her into the bathroom and she slammed the door in his face.

Wiggling into a pair of too-tight jeans was no easy task when you couldn't see your feet. Eventually, she had to sit on the toilet and when she did, she felt the same movement in her abdomen as she had earlier. It was much heavier this time and felt more like a bowling ball than a watermelon. Though she'd never admit it, it was starting to freak her out.

Once she was up and pulled the shirt over her head, she went back into the bedroom where Marshall was sitting on the bed, texting. She must've been longer than she'd realized because one glance into the hall told her Marshall had-had time to get rid of her digested muffins.

"Hey, let me ask you something," she said, still adjusting the shirt into place.

"What's that?" Marshall asked, eyes not leaving his phone.

"You know how I'm always saying it feels like I swallowed a pigmy?"

"Uh-huh…" he muttered absentmindedly.

"Well, what if the pigmy feels like it's about to fall out?"

This definitely got his attention; he raised his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying this kid is doing some serious gymnastics, and I just don't want it to drop onto the sidewalk while I'm in the middle of apprehending the perp."

"You know that can't happen," Marshall said exasperatedly, but he stood up and flipped his phone shut. "Let me look at you."

Mary sighed and put her hands on her hips.

"Do you have to?"

"Come on; I just want to check something," he took one of her hands and held her at arm's-length, scrutinizing her stomach.

"Just as I thought," he said with a hint of triumph.

"Marshall, keeping me dangling at this point is really not a good idea…"

"You're carrying much lower today than you were yesterday."

"Yes!" Mary burst; there was a note of pride in her voice. "Yes! I could've sworn I looked seriously humongous this morning."

"Well, that's because you gain the most weight in the ninth month of pregnancy. The baby is in its final stages of growing as it—."

"Okay," Mary interrupted, holding up a hand. "Could we get back to that lower-carrying-thing? What's that about?"

Marshall grinned, highly resembling the Cheshire Cat. Clearly, he couldn't wait to dispense with the information.

"The baby's dropping and descending into your pelvis."

"Meaning?"

"Well…any number of things."

He was enjoying this way too much. She was going to have to slap that smile off his face soon.

"The cliff notes version, Marshall. And stop staring," she added, pulling away so he'd quit examining her stomach.

"It's your body preparing for labor," he said. "You know, like with the contractions? Have you been having any of those?"

"Yeah, and they're a bitch," she said ruefully.

"It comes with some perks," he continued lightly. "You'll probably be able to eat more; you won't feel as full although…in your case that could be dangerous."

He quirked an eyebrow, egging her on.

"Yeah, give me a break Jeeves. Anything else?"

"There's kind of a drawback too…" he murmured. "The baby's pushing down, so you'll probably have to pee a lot more."

"Shit!" Mary exploded without preamble. "Like I'm not going enough already?"

Marshall chuckled and shook his head. Despite how uncomfortable all this was making her, how it disrupted her life and didn't exactly do wonders for her mood, he found the whole thing exciting. He knew delivery could come any day. It seemed she was just realizing this as well.

"So how close am I to popping?" she asked, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.

Marshall held it open for her as she lifted the sack of donuts off the floor.

"He could be here tomorrow."

**A/N: Really appreciate all the feedback thus far! I should warn you now…this fic is LONG! I hope it's not too long; where it becomes a chore to read and so no one does anymore. I like to think that when it does wrap up some fifty chapters from now (kidding) it will have kept your interest.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Nothing related to IPS belongs to me; just having fun…**

The unattended witnesses were more than Mary had been bargaining for. She was so busy through the afternoon and well into the evening that she almost forgot about, as Stan would say, the elephant in the room. It wasn't until after seven that Marshall had the ill grace to remind her. He'd just gotten back to the office with dinner – she had insisted on not going home until absolutely necessary. She knew Jinx was waiting.

"As promised!" he declared, holding up a sack dripping with grease and smelling even better.

"Oh Marshall…" she moaned, sounding blissful. "Marry me."

"Sorry," he said, throwing the bag down on her desk. "I think a first date is somewhat obligatory before marriage."

He pulled a chair from the corner by the coffee machine – at least, where the coffee machine used to be before Mary had threatened to smash it to bits until Delia took it home with her.

"So, you'll never guess who I saw today," Marshall dangled, but Mary was already scarfing down the cheeseburgers with such enthusiasm she couldn't possibly have heard him.

Marshall chortled and reached for his own burger before Mary ate that too.

"So anyway, guess who I saw today," he repeated when Mary had finished chewing.

"Guessing? Seriously? Marshall that requires brain power the likes of which I have been completely devoid of for the last hour. Is there such a thing as pregnesia?"

"Pregnesia?" he mused with another laugh.

"Yeah you know…like amnesia except caused by…well, you know," she said somewhat incoherently, gesturing at her stomach.

"I don't think so," he responded. "And if you don't want to guess, I'll tell you."

"As if I wanted you to," she joshed around a mouthful of French fries.

"Eleanor," he revealed, eyebrows raised in a ludicrously boyish fashion.

"Eleanor," Mary repeated, actually pausing between bites. "Over-hairsprayed, sickly-sweet-smelling, prim and proper Eleanor?" 

"She asked about you too," Marshall muttered, still grinning.

"Wow," Mary gasped, ignoring him. "How's she doing?"

"Pretty good. She met someone…"

"Oh well…my condolences…"

"Mary come on, she actually did ask about you."

"Yeah, and what'd you tell her?" Mary dove back into the bag for more fries.

Marshall's silence did not go unnoticed, despite the loud, unladylike chomping she was doing on the fries. Something told her she could guess why he wasn't spilling.

"Marshall…you didn't," Mary was hopeful, but not optimistic.

"Well, she'd already talked to Stan…"

"Damn it! How many more people are going to find out I'm knocked-up?" she said wildly, hands waving in all directions. "What is it, an epidemic people are afraid of?"

"She wanted to know how you were holding up…and…was pretty curious how I was holding up having you around _and_ with child."

Mary skulked, narrowing her eyebrows and looking murderous but chose not to respond.

"Whatever," she finally settled on, peering back into the bag. Marshall knew it was empty already.

Another silence fell between them. Mary was pretending to search her cheeseburger wrappers for bites she might have missed, but Marshall sensed there was something more on her mind. Knowing her as he did, he had a pretty shrewd idea what it was.

"Mary…" he began delicately. "I've been thinking about…what we discussed yesterday…"

"Marshall, please…" she sighed and closed her eyes. "Not tonight."

"Ordinarily I would give you the time, but there isn't much. You have to meet with the Templeton's tomorrow…"

"Christ. How is it that you remembered when it only flew across my radar this morning?" she whispered, eyes still closed. "I swear, this kid is seriously zapping my brainwaves."

She rolled back in her chair and unzipped the boots hugging her thighs, and then promptly lifted her feet onto the desktop. Marshall took this as an unspoken sign that he could continue.

"Thursday is the only open day at this point Mary. I already talked to Brandi and Jinx and they said that worked for them."

"You what?" Mary wrinkled her nose and gazed at Marshall over the mound that was her stomach.

"They called me. We discussed it," he said shortly.

Mary sighed again. Her head was starting to swim with all these possibilities. She wasn't afraid of anything. Guns and knives, explosives and secrets, even a healthy dose of drama from Brandi or Jinx – none of it scared her. Yet here were two trips, back-to-back, she did not want to make. All because of hidden, unadmitted fear. She really didn't even know how to be afraid. The closest she'd come was when she was abducted. She didn't ever want to run that path again.

"Mary, I know you're perfectly capable of meeting the Templeton's by yourself. I know you're totally equipped to go and see your father by yourself. But I wouldn't mind going along," Marshall was suddenly saying. "To either. Or both."

Mary puffed out her cheeks in thought. Her feet really did hurt. So did the rest of her.

"This is so unnecessary, you know that," Mary reminded him.

"Of course," Marshall supplied, as expected.

"I tell you what…" Mary began, letting her feet slip to the floor. "If it means that much to you…"

But suddenly, another surge gripped her belly and it startled her so badly she doubled over.

"Oh man…" she breathed, trying her best to stay cool. "Jesus, not another one…"

"What's the matter? You okay?"

Marshall was quick and efficient. He stood and hurried around next to the desk to be by her side. At first, he was careful not to touch her but the longer he watched her in obvious pain that she was trying to battle, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, just breathe okay?" he instructed, rubbing her back as he had done that very morning. He seemed to be doing it a lot lately.

"Shit Marshall, I'm trying…" her words were pinching and she looked far from him, as though she wasn't completely registering that he was there. "God this hurts…"

"I know, I know but it'll be over soon, just take a deep breath," Marshall coached calmly, kneeling down next to her.

Without warning, she took his hand and squeezed it so hard her nails dug into his palm. With a loud puff of air, the contraction seemed to have passed but not without some intensity on the tail end. Marshall decided to give her a moment before asking questions.

"You all right?" he wanted to make sure.

Mary nodded. There was something unfamiliar dancing behind her eyes. Part of it was uncertainty. If he didn't know better, Marshall could've sworn the other part was fear.

"I'm good," she decided to reassure him. "Good. That delivery will be a piece of cake," she forced a laugh and immediately let go of his hand, as though not wanting to be caught holding it. He decided to play along and hide the nail marks.

"What were you saying?" he asked, standing up and reaching for the cheeseburger wrappers to throw away.

"About what?"

"You, me…reunions and adventures the next two days…"

"Right…" Mary muttered.

She couldn't decide which she wanted to discuss less – the unexpected pains or the thought of seeing the adoptive parents. Or her own supposed-parent.

"So?" Marshall prompted, tossing the bag and trash into the garbage can.

"If it means that much to you, you can go with me to the Templeton's," she reverted back to her original decision.

"Sounds good," Marshall agreed easily. "I'll pick you up at ten."

"As for my good-for-nothing father…"

She paused, considering. She couldn't ask twice. What would he think?

"I've got mom and Brandi."

"Meaning…?" Marshall raised his eyebrows again.

"…I'll tell them Thursday's good. You can sleep in."

**A/N: Just one chapter up this time! I know I've coupled them together, but two didn't go side-by-side on this one, so it's just the single for now. To those who have mentioned my quickness with the updates…the story is basically written (still tweaking.) I didn't want to start posting and not be able to finish, so I'm just adjusting here and there as I go. Thank-you for the feedback!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Own nothing related to IPS…**

Why was she wearing a dress? Mary hated dresses. Skirts were the same. Flowers, hearts, rainbows, pretty ponies, and glitter – not exactly something she collected. That was more Brandi's department. With a flash, she suddenly wished Brandi were sitting next to her in the car so she could explain how to walk in one of these things. Although, she doubted Brandi had much advice on how to stay upright while you were carrying a particularly rotund basketball under your shirt. Or dress. Whatever.

"I can't believe I'm wearing this," Mary voiced aloud, sighing and leaning her head against the window of Marshall's SUV as the barren Albuquerque wilderness flashed past.

"You look fine; it's only for a couple hours," Marshall reminded her. "Then you can go back to…well…whatever it is you're fitting into these days."

Mary smacked him in the back of the head, rumpling up his hair. Her chosen dress was not atrocious; it was floor-length, plain dark blue with a scooped neck. It was the scooped neck that bothered her the most, but strapless was out of the question. Regardless, her boobs were practically spilling out of the thing and it wasn't even that low-cut. Despite his efforts, she couldn't help noticing that Marshall was having a hard time looking away.

"Are we almost there?" she whined childishly, sighing yet again.

"Why? Have to pee?"

"Where am I gonna go anyway? Why did they want to meet at some park way out in the sticks?"

"You know why," Marshall reinforced gently. "The adoption agency thought it would make everyone more relaxed."

"Relaxed…yeah, right. That's my new least favorite word. Say it again and I'll develop a twitch."

Marshall chuckled but didn't say anything. He let her sulk herself into silence for a few more miles, still staring absently out the window. He wanted to ask how she was feeling, what she was thinking, whether there were regrets already, but he knew none of that was very smart. It would only irritate her further.

"What if I don't like them?" she whispered suddenly.

Marshall turned, surprised at her for initiating the conversation.

"Are you afraid you won't?" he ventured.

"It's not that, it's more…" she paused in thought, turning to him as well. "I'm not exactly great with…people, Marshall."

"I would respectfully disagree," he argued thoughtfully. "You have a better measure of the human mind than anyone I know. Trust me when I say this Mary…"

He glanced into her eyes; she was hanging onto this, he could tell.

"If they are not legitimate, no one would be able to tell that better than you."

She smiled softly, sincerely. She must really be nervous if she was allowing him to wear his heart on his sleeve like this.

"And if your radar does start buzzing…" he considered. "Just to play devil's advocate of course…"

"Right," Mary agreed.

"You can always go back to the agency and look at some more couples."

"But Marshall…" Mary sighed, shaking her head disbelievingly.

He waited patiently. Whatever she was going to say, it was going to take a lot of courage for her to get it out and he didn't want to interrupt.

"I'm not ready," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"You said it yourself; this kid could come today – tomorrow. And I don't even know what's going to happen to him; I don't know where he's gonna go or who's going to take him home. Why the hell did I wait so long to do this?"

Marshall wasn't sure how to answer that last question, but decided on a safe, all-purpose response instead.

"Everything will work out," he assured her. "When they're supposed to, things will fall into place."

"I'm not ready Marshall," she said again.

He sensed there was more to her readiness than just finding a home for her child, but knew better than to bring that up.

"Well, ready or not…" he began.

With a sudden lurch, the car pulled to a stop at the curb. Mary turned to the window anxiously and in the distance, spotted the couple from the adoption papers sitting at a bench under a tree. There was a playground beyond, kids swinging and laughing as the sun shone on their faces. She cast a look at Marshall. She wanted him to understand without having to say it out loud.

"Hey…" he said, reaching over and putting his hand on her knee. "You can do this. I know you can."

She tried to smile and, without thinking, put her hand on top of his.

"You're lucky I let you come."

**A/N: Thanks again for all the feedback.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Nothing related to IPS belongs to me.**

She sat in the car until Marshall came around to help her out. She would've tried to do it herself, but it wouldn't have mattered – he would've insisted. She was too tired not to play along anyway.

He opened her door and held out his hand. Mary was looking right at him; she found it helped to see him so solidly and dependably present. God knew she couldn't rely on anyone else to step into that role. While she was staring, he raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers. This made her grin and she stepped out, holding onto his hand the whole time.

They didn't speak the entire time they walked across the green grass. They strode side-by-side. If one of them hadn't been nine months pregnant and wearing a tent, they'd have looked just like the badass Marshals they were.

They'd almost reached the tree before the Templeton's noticed they were there. They seemed to stand in slow-motion, smiles bright and beaming; faces proud and eager. Mary tensed, but then she remembered Marshall next to her. It was now or never.

"Hi," Mary found herself saying, actually managing a decent smile.

"Mary," Mr. Templeton enthused, taking her hand and wringing it. "It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm George."

"George, nice to see you," she said as pleasantly as she could. It was an effort; she wasn't used to attempting such a sunshine-y demeanor.

"Hi Mary," the wife stepped in.

There was a different look here. George seemed boisterous and excited. Mrs. Templeton – whatever her name was – looked somewhat overwhelmed. There was an anxious smile on her face, as though she was making some kind of an effort too.

"Hi," Mary said again in thinking about all this. "Mary Shannon. Really good to see you both."

"My wife, Kate," George introduced them.

Mary was about to rephrase her greeting with the name this time, but Kate suddenly pitched forward and threw her arms around her. Mary was so shocked she forgot to be uncomfortable. Being hugged by strangers was not something she usually appreciated. Marshall seemed to be expecting danger in the water because he gave Mary a reassuring glance, clearly hoping she wouldn't say something regrettable.

When they parted, Kate seemed much more relaxed. That word again.

"I'm sorry!" she said with a funny-sounding laugh.

"Oh, that…that's okay…" Mary found herself saying.

"I've just been dying to meet you; what you're doing is…" her voice trailed away, but she picked the thread up quickly. "You look wonderful – just so beautiful."

Mary's instinct was to shoot down this compliment at once – it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. What a joke. But there was something strangely sincere about the way she said it – there was almost admiration in her tone. It must've been taking her a minute to speak, because Marshall nudged her without the other two noticing.

"Well that's…that's very kind; thank-you."

"How are you feeling?" George asked. "Should we sit down?" he offered the bench with a wave of his hand.

"Thank-you," Mary said again and took a seat on one side with some help from Marshall. This reminded her.

"Oh, this is my friend Marshall."

Marshall shook hands all around with ease, totally and utterly in his comfort zone. Not at all like Mary.

"I hope you don't mind my tagging along. The trees in this area of the city are a rare branch to the southwest. In fact…"

"You'll have to excuse him," Mary grinned, instinctively reaching over and placing her hand on top of Marshall's mouth. "He has an unfortunate habit of dispensing useless information."

The Templeton's laughed, fluttering their hands in a no-nonsense way.

"Not at all," Kate said.

"Happy to have you," George chimed in.

All this frivolity was getting to Mary. She wanted to run from it. But she knew, despite her hatred for pretending, that she couldn't let these people think she was the cynical, negativity-spewing grump she truly was at heart.

A silence fell. Jesus. They'd been here two minutes and had managed to get uncomfortable already.

"So how…how are you feeling?" George repeated, what he'd asked before offering them seats.

Mary gave an awkward smile and a bitter laugh that she half-hoped would go unnoticed. Not even on purpose, she looked to Marshall for help.

"You can tell the truth," he laughed lightly. "I don't think they'll mind."

"No-no, please!" Kate exclaimed. "Don't feel embarrassed."

"Well…" Mary began, trying to laugh along with them but it tasted strange on her tongue. Her belly felt stretched so tight she couldn't breathe.

There was Marshall's hand on her knee.

"Well, I…I've never been pregnant," Mary admitted, figuring she could at least start with the truth. "So I got more than I bargained for. Marshall here has had to guide me through most of it."

The man smiled modestly, holding up his hands to indicate it had been nothing.

"She's held up pretty well," Marshall said, smirking. "Not without a few bumps."

Silence again. How would they ever get through this?

"Well, we're interested in hearing anything you want to tell us," Kate said, clasping her hands together in what seemed to be anticipation. "We want to know all about you."

Somehow, Mary doubted they wanted to know everything. Even much. They'd figure that out soon. Then maybe they'd know why she couldn't possibly keep the child she was carrying.

"The…the file said something about…being in law enforcement?" Kate prompted.

"What is it that you do?" George chimed in.

"I'm a US Marshal," Mary volunteered. "Beyond that I…really can't tell you much; I'm not allowed to talk about the branch of service I work in."

It figured. Less to discuss.

"Oh, well we understand of course," George was saying. "But that's fantastic work."

"What a rewarding job," Kate agreed.

Mary didn't really think of it that way, but she was used to hearing other people describe it as such.

"Actually, Marshall's a Marshal too. He's my partner."

"Oh really?" Kate said interestedly.

"Yup, for eight years now," Marshall said this with an unidentifiable surge of pride.

"Just can't get rid of him," Mary tried making a joke. "Besides, the name is too perfect to pass up for a tease at every opportunity – Marshal Marshall Mann. Only this guy could pull it off."

They were laughing again. Was she really that funny? Marshall, despite being her compadre and all, never laughed at the things she said. He was usually too busy giving her some ridiculous fact to go along with whatever insult she'd hurled at him. Were the Templeton's overcompensating? Or did they honestly want to like her this much?

"Have you had to take much time off…with the pregnancy and everything?" George asked.

"Reluctantly," Marshall answered for her. "_Very_ reluctantly. We've had to chain her to the desk."

As if on cue, Marshall's cell phone rang.

"Sorry," he apologized, maneuvering it out of his pocket. "The work never ends."

He glanced at the number and added to Mary, "I'll just be a minute."

She was about to speak – about to say she'd better come along – but Marshall, the man who lived in her head, caught all this before she was halfway off the bench.

"You stay – talk. I won't be long."

She frowned, but regained her seat.

"Very devoted," Marshall nodded at the Templeton's and grinned; they both smiled and Marshall stepped away to take the call.

Now they were alone together. Damn. Would they say more with Marshall out of the picture? If possible, even less? She felt as though she'd been here for hours already and knew it couldn't have been more than five minutes. What else could she talk about? Before the inevitable conversation where they spilled their hearts out about why they needed a child so badly.

"Can we ask about the father, Mary?" Kate prodded delicately. "Are you in touch with him?"

Mark. She'd barely given him a thought. She knew at some point he'd have to sign off on the adoption but she was so determined to block him out of the whole ordeal, she hadn't even bothered to ask what he wanted.

"Well…not really," she confessed to Kate. "It's my ex-husband, actually."

That always felt so strange to say. In name, maybe, but otherwise, she preferred to pretend her little hitching with Mark never existed.

"Kind of," she corrected herself. "We were married for about five minutes when I was seventeen – he was twenty-two. It was annulled a month later."

Describing the details of her life to perfect strangers was unnerving to say to the least. Marshall hadn't even known about Mark until she'd gone and gotten herself knocked up.

"He lives in New Jersey, so I hardly ever see him," she decided to wrap up. "But…" she shrugged, as though to indicate the result of their little reunion was nothing more than a fat stomach and bloated feet. "Who says you can't go home again?"

Marshall had said that.

George and Kate nodded, saying nothing. Were they buying into this? How did she seem to them? Did she care?

"Well…can-can you tell us about your family?" Kate said, attempting to get the ball rolling again.

"Oh…" Mary responded awkwardly.

Now there was a topic of discussion. One she usually avoided. How could she put this?

"Do you have siblings?" Kate asked to help her out.

"I have a sister," Mary managed. "Brandi. She's six years younger. She sells cars over at Alpert's Autoplex…"

This got George's attention.

"We got our truck there!" he shared euthastiastically. "They have great service; your sister must be quite a gal."

"That's one way of putting it," Mary scoffed, just thinking how Brandi would react if she'd heard that. "She certainly does well for herself – she's engaged to the owner, Peter Alpert."

"No kidding!" Kate said, like she thought it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"She's crazy, what can I say?" Mary found herself blurting out. She wasn't sure how that sounded. If it came off at all funny, neither George nor Kate seemed to notice.

"You two are close then?" Kate asked, still on Brandi.

Mary was briefly thrown by this assumption. She'd never really thought of her and Brandi as being, as Kate had described, "close." She'd always sort of considered Brandi as being an obnoxious nuisance that forever had a death grip on her that she couldn't shake off no matter how hard she tried. It had been sometime since Brandi had been in trouble, but Mary wasn't quick to forget. However, it did seem she was memory impaired regarding how much trouble Brandi had gone to just to be her friend the other night.

"We see a lot of each other," Mary finally said. "My mother too. She's a dance instructor down in Nob Hill."

"How lovely!" Kate proclaimed.

The joy she was spreading was so foreign to Mary. In some ways, it reminded her of people like Delia and Eleanor, forever projecting some sort of positive field which no snarkiness could penetrate. But in other ways, it was completely different than that approach. Kate seemed to want to understand Mary more than tolerate her. She supposed that was something.

Mary really needed to pay attention. She was so busy scrutinizing, she was having trouble listening.

"And your dad?" George suddenly asked. "Is he here in town also?"

It was like a fist in her gut. Her insides twisted; it was like a silent explosion was taking place in the pit of her stomach. Her palms began to sweat and she was suddenly much more aware of the heat of the day, the sharpness of the breeze. Somewhere, far back in her mind she knew Brandi had been right. He was everything to her. Good, bad, or otherwise he lived in her very skin.

"No, he doesn't," Mary found herself whispering, a strangely ethereal tone that did not belong to her.

Her feelings must've showed on her face because George and Kate looked suddenly concerned.

"Mary, we're sorry if we're asking too much…" George began.

"Really, whatever you want to share is fine…" Kate continued. "I shouldn't have said we wanted to know everything; I just meant…"

"No-no," Mary shook her head, not really noticing either one of them but finding it completely foolish that they were expected to take the blame.

She looked to the right and saw Marshall leaning against the playground structure in his sunglasses. He was still on the phone.

"I um…" her mouth had gone suddenly dry. "My father…he doesn't live here, no. I haven't seen him since I was…"

Her thoughts were becoming foggy. She needed to get with it.

"Well…for a long time. He…he ran out on me and my mother and my sister two days before I turned seven."

Getting it out was like a release. She found she could breathe a little better now. She tried to discern something from the Templeton's expressions and it was sadness. There was a sorrow there. Empathy? Understanding? They could just be playing her for the idiot, of course, but somehow…

"That must've been so hard," Kate said. "I can't imagine."

_It was_, Mary found herself thinking._ It was the worst thing that ever happened to me._

"I'm sorry," George replied solemnly.

_And I'm sorry too_ said a smaller voice. _I'm sorry for running away from this kid the way my dad ran from me._

**A/N: Thanks to those who keep reviewing. Hope the story is progressing nicely.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Still own nothing related to the fabulousness that is In Plain Sight.**

Things began to progress a little better the longer the day went on. Mary managed to shift the conversation off her and onto George and Kate which, she reminded herself, was the point of this whole ludicrous get-together. She was supposed to find out who they were, what they did, glean some sort of magic factoid that would tell her they were the right people to take home her child.

The longer she listened, the more she learned about their business and their home, their relatives, nieces and nephews, childhoods and promised futures, the more it scared her that she couldn't find anything wrong with them. Well, not _anything_. She was Mary Shannon and she could find fault in the smallest of crevices. Usually superficial, unimportant faults as well. Her mind actually buzzed with the ways she could shoot down this pair of perfectly nice people. But she knew she couldn't.

This was them. She was going to place her child in their arms and they were going to take him home. Her child – not her child. Their child. It wasn't her child. It hadn't been since the moment she'd found out there was one. She'd seen to that from the very beginning.

_Oh God. What was she doing?_

The visit was coming to a close. Marshall was packing picnic blankets and baskets of food into his trunk and bidding George farewell as he battened the hatch. That left Mary and Kate standing under the tree. Mother to mother. Well mother to…Mary.

She struggled for what to say. How to end it – how to say goodbye knowing the next time they saw each other, she could very well be handing over her flesh and blood as though it were some parasitic growth she couldn't wait to be rid of.

"Mary," Kate said, reaching for her hand and holding it in her own. Mary decided to let her.

"Thank-you so much for seeing us today. George and I so appreciate your even considering us."

Mary nodded, but didn't speak. Kate's hand was strangely tight around her own. It was probably just her swollen fingers.

"Please thank Marshall for us too. He's wonderful."

"Yes," Mary finally responded. This was at least something she could get on board with. "He is."

Kate smiled and dropped Mary's hand, putting her palm to her face instead. Mary tensed; having her this close was unnerving. Maybe she just wasn't used to people touching her. Could that be why she hated it?

"What you're doing is so selfless, Mary," she declared. "I can't tell you how much I admire that."

"Well…I wouldn't," Mary shook her head, averting her eyes to the grass under her feet. "Mrs. Templeton…Kate…"

She was horrible with people. Just so horrible.

"I can do so many things…I can…I can stamp on the fact that my father abandoned me, I can take care of Jinx and my sister…I can work a twelve hour day and not even feel the strain. I can be six inches from death and not even flinch…"

Why was she sharing this? Of all the times to let her hormones take control.

"But I'm…what I'm not…"

Her eyes flashed to Marshall. He was watching her. God, how she wished he were there.

"What I'm not is a mother. I'm just…"

She cast around for an explanation, but knew there wasn't one.

"I'm just not. I don't know why you'd find that admirable. It's the most selfish claptrap there is."

She expected to see confusion in Kate's face – at the very least, a little _too_ much understanding. But it was impassive. Calm. Mary missed the days when she could achieve that.

"Mary…" she whispered. "You have the means, the experience, and the ability. You just don't have the desire. There's nothing wrong with that. Not all of us are meant to be parents. I mean come on…how crazy would it be if we all wanted the same things, we were all good at the same things?"

Mary shrugged, still not feeling reassured.

"You're a Marshal. That's where your heart is. Mine's not – it never will be. Mine is in a child," she said earnestly. "There's nothing selfish about it."

Mary didn't know what else to say. She feared she'd run her limit. Kate gestured and the two of them started forward, going to meet Marshall and George at the car. Were they expecting an answer at the end? A guarantee that they were to go home with her child? What if she didn't know…what if she needed more time? What if time had run out?

Just like that, they were there.

"You ready?" Marshall asked.

No. She nodded and fell in beside him, so close side-by-side she could feel his shirt rippling against her arm in the wind.

George and Marshall shook hands. Mary found herself being hugged by Kate yet again, and even by George in an uncomfortable one-armed embrace. Was she talking? Making a go of this? She couldn't have said for sure.

"Thank-you again," she heard George say.

"I'll um…" Mary muttered distractedly. "I'll…"

What was going to come out next? She felt a gentle squeeze on her right shoulder and knew that it was Marshall.

"I'll talk to the agency…be in touch," Mary finally got out.

"Sounds great," Kate said, cheerful as ever.

There was a flurry in exchanging goodbyes as Marshall and Mary climbed in the SUV and prepared to drive away. All Mary could see were the Templeton's waving, even when they were just pinpricks in the rearview. It was by the time the landscape turned rocky and dusty again that she realized how tired she was. Her stomach was cramping again and her back was killing her from sitting on that bench all afternoon. With a sigh, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window.

Marshall glanced at her to see if it was safe to ask questions. She seemed fairly content. As content as she was ever going to be.

"You okay?" he wondered aloud. "How do you feel?"

"I feel fat," she said bluntly.

"Fair enough," Marshall chuckled.

"I'm just…" she began, and then didn't know how to finish. Her voice trailed away into nothingness, her words lost somewhere she couldn't reach them.

"What?" Marshall asked eventually. "You're feeling all right, aren't you?"

He had to know for sure. He didn't want her slipping from this realm of possibilities she was so close to entering. But then he felt a certain stipulation had to be added to his question.

"Physically speaking, I mean."

Mary almost laughed, but merely smiled and didn't look his direction. Her eyes were fixed on the dirt road in front of them as the SUV rattled further forward.

"I'm just…really tired. Damn, everything aches. Nine months ago you could put a bullet in me and I'd bounce right off the pavement."

Marshall didn't like to be reminded of bullets sailing through his partner, in one end and out the other, so he addressed the other comment.

"You're in your third trimester," he reminded her, turning on his teacher-voice. "The baby's getting bigger every day. I'd be surprised if you weren't tired."

He considered that last statement a little more carefully.

"Well…marginally surprised anyway."

"Marshall…" she shook her head, leaning up to see him better.

She didn't know where to go with that statement, and so she simply said nothing. A lot of unfinished, incoherent thoughts were getting out today. Maybe it was a good thing she'd stopped working on anything overly important. She couldn't have the witnesses, the DOJ, or Albuquerque PD thinking she was some half-assed rookie.

"As long as we're talking…" she heard Marshall say.

"Mmm hmm," she murmured sleepily.

"Dare I ask what you thought of George and Kate?"

She'd known it was coming. She could sense it in the air. Marshall certainly took up residence inside her head. Maybe it worked in reverse too.

"Pretty happy-go-lucky. All that carefree crap," she muttered in an undertone. She knew Marshall heard, though.

"Did you see their faces when I told them about Brandi marrying Mr. Autoplex?"

Marshall didn't respond. He wanted to make sure she was finished.

"I don't know. You couldn't pay me to be that optimistic. Talk about disappointments."

"Call me crazy," Marshall interjected before he could stop himself. "But you are being strangely non-judgmental. I am not afraid to admit it's a little frightening."

Mary wanted to smile. She wanted to laugh and make some sort of snappy retort back, but she couldn't do it. She'd thought that pretending to be okay with the Templeton's would make her feel better and ease the unfamiliar pain she was feeling. But it hadn't. It made her feel worse.

"Mary…"

"Yeah Marshall."

"I know moments like these aren't exactly your favorite."

"Something tells me that won't stop you."

"But I'm proud of you for going. If this is what you want, you are going to make them so happy."

Making people happy. Was she Barney the Dinosaur now? Big Bird on Sesame Street?

"I want you to know, it's okay if you're not sure. I have every confidence you will make the right decision when the time comes."

And it was coming closer every day.

"Marshall…" she whispered, closing her eyes as she leaned on the headrest, facing him. He faded as she allowed the blackness to envelope her and carry her away.

"Yeah?"

"She told me I wasn't selfish."

"You're not," he said. He could tell she was going to sleep. He knew he needed to let her.

"She said I was…beautiful…"

Even with her eyes shut, she still wrinkled her nose in disgust. Knowing she couldn't see him, Marshall smiled broadly.

"You are, Mary."

He didn't know what made him agree. All he knew was, he couldn't truthfully _disagree_.

Her honey-colored waves were spread across the cushions, her right hand on the side of her belly. Her eyelashes slowly fluttered up and down but underneath, Marshall saw the hint of a smirk.

"Don't be coming onto me, doofus."

**A/N: Thank-you again for all the positive feedback! I couldn't resist an early update today – an excuse to shout out a hearty CONGRATULATIONS to Mary McCormack who tweeted this afternoon that she has had her third baby girl! Best to you always, Mary!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: IPS isn't mine…**

Mary was still asleep when Marshall pulled up in front of her house two hours later. He was reluctant to wake her for more than just the fact that she would be beastly intolerable in terms of her attitude. But Mary rarely admitted to being at all worn out and so he knew that if she were willing to tell him as much, she must really be tired.

She'd slipped her heeled sandals onto the floor of the car, and so she was barefoot. She'd turned from Marshall at the steering wheel and was facing the window; he could see the rise and fall of her chest underneath that navy dress she had so despised.

Marshall set the parking brake and it was this, unfortunately, that caused Mary to stir. Whether from the lurch or the sound, he wasn't sure. And she did more than stir – she jerked as though startled and pulled from something she'd been dreaming about. She looked around, disoriented, still slumped halfway down the seat.

"Sorry," Marshall said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Jesus," Mary muttered predictably, still looking around. "How long have I been passed out?"

"Most of the ride," Marshall told her.

"God, my back…" Mary tried to rearrange herself in the seat. "Why'd you let me sleep so long? I feel like I'm about to snap in two."

"Your back would've started acting up anyway; it's a long drive. I figured you might as well get some rest while we were at it."

"Damn it, I have to pee," she managed to shift herself into an upright position, stretching out the kinks on the back of the seat.

"Whoa…" she said suddenly, her hand instinctively jumping to her stomach.

"What?" Marshall said at once. "Something happen?"

"Yeah, again."

"What?"

"Um…whatever it was I asked you about the other day," she waggled her fingers indistinctly as though hoping he would catch on. "The dropping…"

"The baby dropped again?" Marshall asked, finally figuring out what she was trying to get across.

"Yeah, I guess," she said shortly. "But…you said that's totally routine, right?"

"Of course it is," Marshall was quick to reassure her. "He could just be moving too; they do that."

Marshall tried to smile so she wouldn't worry. It's not as though she would _admit_ to worrying, but he knew that deep down she must be. He recognized the look in her eyes, the unwillingness to concede defeat in any way.

"Oh man…" Mary groaned, looking out the window. "Damn it, not today."

"What's going on?" Marshall asked.

"Jinx is here," she told him, pointing her out. "That's her going all peeping Tom out the front window. Christ, it's like an ambush. Her car's not even here."

"I wonder if Brandi dropped her off," Marshall remarked, getting out and shutting his door.

"Seriously?" Mary said, her voice laced with annoyance. "This is when you decide to exit the car, when you know there's someone waiting inside I don't want to see? Geez, what'd I ever do to you?"

Marshall had walked around to help Mary out, but she declined this time, swatting his hand away.

"Not on your life, sucker."

"Since when am I sucker?" he asked, mildly curious.

"Just wait," she said with a threatening glare, one foot out of the car.

It happened so fast she almost didn't notice. The heel of her right shoe was on the ledge, halfway to the ground. She turned around too quickly to try and put the left one in the same spot; the right heel slipped off, sending her unexpectedly sprawling out of the passenger side. It all became a blur as her feet worked wildly to find footing, but caught the hem of that damned dress. She was heading, face-first into the grass when all of a sudden she was in Marshall's arms, staring up into his face which was harried and distraught. Safe.

"Are you all right?" he practically shouted. He didn't even wait for her to answer. "Are you all right?" he did shout this time.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, put-off by his girlish worry. "I'm fine."

She was still cradled in his arms like he'd dipped her after a dance. As if. She quickly righted herself, brushing her hands on the dress. Marshall was looking angrier than she'd ever seen him.

"You see, this is why I told you to let me help you!" he scolded. "You don't care about your well-being – fine! But for God's sake think about the baby!"

He knew it was a mistake the minute he said it. Mary wasn't likely to immediately discern that his carelessness had erupted out of fear.

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing I'm not actually this kid's mother, isn't it? Sure is great it won't be living with a basket case like me that would rather it just bit the dust before delivery! Yeah! Real lucky!"

Marshall covered his face with his hand as she made her way back to the house. He knew she was trying to hurry but her size prevented her getting there very fast. She must have really been hurt if she was rushing inside to Jinx. He dashed after her.

"Mary…!"

He grabbed her forearm, forcing her to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes unusually shiny.

"Mary, I'm sorry! Okay? I really am. I just want you to take care of yourself! You're my partner; it's my job to look after you! You know I'd be lost if something happened to you!"

Should he really have added that last bit?

"I did not mean what I said! Please…you just scared me; I'm sorry."

That was enough – wasn't it? Would she buy it? Was she feeling understanding?

It seemed she was more than understanding. Her lip began to quiver, her eyes welled up with tears, and before he knew it she was crying. Granted, it was not all-out sobbing and she was trying her damndest to cut it out, but it wasn't working. Marshall was so surprised; he didn't know what to say. Mary never cried – she never let anyone see her cry, anyway. She considered it a sign of weakness and didn't waste her time. Whatever happened next, he knew she wouldn't want to be reminded of this episode at a later date.

"Mary…" he whispered, feeling guiltier by the second for causing this wave of emotion.

"I can't do it Marshall," she blubbered.

"What?"

"My father…I can't go and see him. He doesn't love me anymore; why would I go see him?"

"We're…not talking about the baby anymore?" he wasn't afraid to admit being thrown by the sudden switch in gears.

Mary shook her head and Marshall continued.

"Mary, if you still want to go, I need to go down and consult on some paperwork with Abigail anyway."

She knew he was lying.

"I'd be happy to drive you. We can go after Jinx and Brandi have had their visit."

"Brandi wanted me to go with her," Mary confessed.

Her baby sister needed her. She couldn't let her down at this monumental moment.

"Then we'll go together. It makes no difference to me. You want to do that?"

Mary wanted to tell him why she was so afraid of going. She wanted to share all the fears and doubts, and also the fantasies and dreams she'd spun in her head about the reunions with her father over the past thirty years.

But she was so exhausted. She decided on her usual method of averting confrontation instead.

"You've gotta get a life, Marshall."

He grinned.

_That means yes._

**A/N: [Repeated from Chapter 9]**

**Thank-you again for all the positive feedback! I couldn't resist an early update today – an excuse to shout out a hearty CONGRATULATIONS to Mary McCormack who tweeted this afternoon that she has had her third baby girl! Best to you always, Mary!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Own nothing related to IPS.**

Mary slept badly that night. Jinx and Brandi stayed over which, if nothing else, got rid of Marshall and his hovering. She finally bid them goodnight around 12:30, but even then she couldn't doze off. Fragmented images of James and Polaroid pictures kept disturbing the darkness; punctuated every now and then by the cries of a newborn baby and Biscuit the bear nestled alone in a lonely looking crib.

"Mary honey?" twittered a familiar voice.

She groaned, thinking that Jinx had somehow taken her intrusiveness so far that she was now penetrating her subconscious.

"Mary?" said the voice again.

"What?" she mumbled into her pillow.

"Marshall will be here soon," she whispered gently. "I wanted to give you some time to get dressed."

Slowly, Mary opened her eyes. The sun was shining, the birds were squawking obnoxiously, and she could hear the trash truck out front. It was morning.

She felt awful. She supposed it could be due to the lack-of-sleep, but she felt seriously drained and enormously heavy, knowing the effort to get out of bed would be a big one. Even lying down, she was dizzy and her cheeks felt sweaty. Maybe those dreams had been worse than she'd thought.

She turned to Jinx who was, by Jinx's standards, looking pretty nice. She had on a suit similar to one Mary owned, black blazer and pants with a white button-up. The cut on the blazer was a little more feminine than Mary was used to, but all-in-all the effect was decent.

"Why are you wearing that?" Mary asked, sounding accusatory rather than curious.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Jinx was affronted already.

"I just wondered why you were dressing up for him. The guy's gonna be in the orange jumpsuit, mom. Hell, even I won't look as shabby next to him."

Jinx put up her hands, clearly feeling defeated in the first five seconds since Mary had awoken.

"Brandi and I are finishing breakfast. Get up so we can go," she snapped.

With that, she turned and headed for the door. Maybe it was the dreams still floating across her mind – specifically the ones with the faceless newborn – or maybe it was still her out-of-control hormones. Mary wasn't a fan of either possibility, but one or the other or both made her call Jinx back.

"Mom!" she cried out, sitting up in bed. "Wait."

Jinx turned around as though merely being denied her dramatic exit was a sin.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just…" she thought, and then landed on the truth. "I don't know what I am anymore. I didn't mean to make this harder for you."

Jinx walked back over and sat on the end of the bed, worry lines etched in every part of her face. It was clear now that Mary had let her guard down, she was going to unload.

"Mary…" she whispered. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

"Going to see him, you mean?"

"Yes," she said, softer still; her lip trembling. "I've gone back and forth so many times. But Brandi and…he's my husband I…"

"Mom, no he's not," Mary said as kindly as she could. "Not really. Come on."

"Yes!" Jinx exclaimed, anger flaring up at once. "He is! He is my husband!"

"Okay-okay," Mary put up her hands, not feeling at all up to dealing with the melodrama. Between her current condition and what lay ahead for the day, she couldn't take it.

"But Mary…" Jinx softened so quickly it was alarming. "I'm your mother. I can tell that this is hard on you too."

"It is what it is," Mary said shortly. "We've been looking for the man for thirty years; it's ridiculous not to at least see him after we wasted all that time searching."

"Is that really how you see it?" Jinx asked her eyes wide, her face perplexed.

"Yes," Mary said distinctly. "I do."

_No, she didn't. Not at all._

"Mary, you're my baby," Jinx gushed, tears filling her eyes. Christ, it was too early for this kind of show.

"Mom, I really need to get ready. I've already left Marshall waiting for me once this week."

Jinx stood, glancing anxiously over her shoulder as she made her way back to the door.

"Peter brought over some cheese Danish last night while you were visiting with the Templeton's," she said timidly, one hand on the knob. "Brandi saved you a few."

"Yeah, just what I need; I'm already blowing up like a balloon. Expect me to burst any day," Mary replied ungratefully, hoisting herself off the bed.

Jinx didn't respond and shut the door. Going to the closet, Mary picked out the first thing she saw. She didn't want to turn this into some dog-and-pony show they were putting on for James. She was determined to remain impassive and relaxed (whatever she told Marshall about her aversion to the word.) She couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd pined for him all these years.

Her chosen outfit was a pair of leggings and her usual boots, with a long dark red top and blazer. The blazer really only accentuated her giant boobs, despite her efforts to use it to hide them, but she didn't really care. She felt so slow this morning.

As she was finishing brushing her teeth, she heard Brandi let Marshall in.

_It's time._

The thought made her strangely nervous. Going through the motions, she went back out into the bedroom, all the while her breaths become quicker, sweating by the second and losing her grip on what she had to do. Was this how she handled the situation? Was this her new "cool?" Talk about embarrassing. Amazing how getting knocked-up threw her completely off-balance.

"Where's Mary?" she heard Marshall ask in the distance.

She assumed Jinx or Brandi must've told him, but she didn't hear. She was sitting on the bed, trying to regain her composure before any of the others saw her but she was breathing so fast to stay in control, it didn't look as such at all. Or, she could assume it didn't.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and just as suddenly, a knock at the door.

"US Marshals," said a voice she recognized, obviously joking around. "Open up."

"What?" Mary said dully, glancing at the door a fraction of a second before turning away again.

"Hey," Marshall entered, dropping all pretenses at once. "Brandi called shotgun already but I told her you had a permanent lease on that spot. Did you know that riding shotgun actually refers to the depiction of stagecoaches in the Wild West that were in danger of being robbed or attacked? Someone would sit beside the driver with a rifle or a – hence the term – shotgun to protect them from being harmed in case of a raid. So I guess it is fairly fitting to you."

He finished with a laugh, clearly amused with the picture he had unintentionally painted. Mary didn't laugh, which wasn't unusual. But she didn't respond and it was then Marshall caught on to what was most peculiar.

"You just let me actually get through, what you call 'pointless information.' Not one interruption. You all right?"

Mary turned to face him, still breathing quickly though not as loudly. There was a lost, deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes. And something else as well.

"Wow…" Marshall said, although calmly. He advanced and sat next to her. "You are looking seriously flushed. Do you feel okay?"

He put three fingers to her cheek, tilting her head each direction to get a better look. She was so outside herself she didn't even answer.

"Mary?" he prompted, a little louder this time.

"Yeah," she snapped to attention, shaking her head. "I'm…I'm fine; I just didn't sleep very well."

"That wouldn't account for your being flushed," Marshall shot down that explanation at once, narrowing his eyebrows as though suspecting she was lying.

Without asking, he put his palm to her forehead, front to back.

"Not feverish; that's good. Have you been having contractions?"

"What are you, my OBGYN?" she snapped, using the term he had coined early on in her pregnancy, smushing all five letters together to form one word.

She stood up, transforming almost instantly back into the Mary he was so familiar with.

"I said I'm fine. Let's go."

**A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers! Appreciate it!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: No IPS infringement intended…**

Mary didn't speak during the entire drive to county lock-up. Jinx and Brandi chattered along at breakneck speed in the backseat, seemingly forgetting that Mary and Marshall were even along for the ride. After awhile, Marshall managed to forget they were there as well and tune them out. He was focused on Mary, who was staring blankly out the window. There was something more than indecision or uncertainty in her features. The longer Marshall thought about it, the more he realized it was sadness. It was why, or for what that he couldn't be sure of. Sometimes, getting this close to Mary's vulnerable side was so intriguing Marshall could hardly stand it. Other times – even most of the time – he just wanted his partner back. Gun-slinging, smart-mouthed, badass Mary Shannon.

It wasn't until Marshall found a parking spot an hour later that Jinx and Brandi stopped talking. There was an uncomfortable silence blanketing all of them, nobody sure what to say or what to do next.

"Brandi…why don't you and Jinx head inside – sign in at the front desk," Marshall instructed as though this were all a day-trip to the museum. "Mary and I are going to check in with Stan, and then we'll be right in."

He was such a liar.

Jinx and Brandi glanced at each other nervously, Brandi wringing her hands together.

"You'll really be right in?" Brandi asked, sounding strangely sweet.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Mary registered that. But hearing it seemed to be all she was capable of.

"Mary?" Brandi repeated softly, leaning up between the gap in the seats to peer at her sister.

Mary merely nodded, casting her gaze to the floor.

"Don't worry about it; we'll just be a minute," Marshall assured them both. "Just tell them who you are and they'll take you downstairs; Abigail is waiting."

Jinx nodded as well and shooed Brandi out of her seat, onto the pavement. She was whispering indistinctly in her younger daughter's ear, probably about Mary and the absence of her cynicism on a day such as this. Once they were out of sight, Marshall turned to Mary.

"Now, you know I lied about calling Stan. The only way you're getting into work today is over my dead body."

He expected her to protest this view, but she didn't. She didn't do anything.

"Mary, I'd really feel better if you said something," Marshall confessed. "I know being sick never stopped you, but you're really not looking very well. Do you want to get some lunch before we do this?"

"No," she finally said. "I'm not hungry."

"_You're_ not hungry," Marshall stated disbelievingly. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Mary shook her head.

"No."

"Okay…" Marshall said uncertainly, but deciding to be cool with it. "It's probably not good for you to eat if you're not hungry."

"Well, that was profound Sherlock," Mary bit with sarcasm. "Any other pearls of wisdom? Any boring facts about what a daughter is supposed to do when she sees her deadbeat father for the first time since she was six?"

"I think I'm empty on that one."

Mary scoffed and shook her head.

"Figures."

Slowly, she turned in her seat to look at him. He was examining her closely, as though trying to get her number or figure her out.

"Here's what I do know," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning in, inches from her face. "I may not know what a daughter is supposed to do, but I do know what Mary Shannon would do."

She gave him the tiniest of smiles.

"Oh please…enlighten me."

Marshall smiled too.

"She would go in showing her old man exactly what he missed by being gone all these years."

It was true. But ever since she started carrying the pigmy around, she wasn't sure she really was Mary Shannon anymore.

**A/N: Sorry I'm getting it there so slowly! Climaxes are coming, that's for sure!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I own nothing related to IPS.**

This was not happening. This could not be happening.

Thirty years. Thirty long years of making sure Jinx didn't black-out, trying to keep Brandi out of trouble, sitting around and wondering sometimes for hours at a time why she didn't have a stable father around to do all of this for a mother and sister who couldn't do it for themselves the first two decades. And the anger – the rage and inability to understand why a man who claimed to love her so much could leave her in such a dire situation. He had to have known that. He had to have known he was the only person she'd trusted even at six years old and her entire world had fallen apart the day he'd walked out that door. How could she ever forgive something like that?

Abigail was saying hello to her, shaking her hand, expressing her hope that the pregnancy was progressing smoothly. Yeah right.

But she held him in her heart. In a much bigger space than she'd ever held Jinx or Brandi. The only person who occupied more of that coveted spot was Marshall.

James…she could pull their memories out as though it were yesterday. Birthday parties, Oreo cookies at the kitchen table, running around in the backyard, and the way he tickled her in her bed at night. A true-blue daddy's girl. The only man – the only person, frankly – who'd ever told her she was funny. That she was sweet. And kind. And…warm. He who had recognized her strength and her prowess. Those letters meant more to her than she could admit. Shamefully, she knew she cherished them even more than she cherished most living, breathing human beings.

Marshall was walking next to her. Jinx and Brandi's footsteps were close behind. Abigail was going over rules and regulations, but telling Mary to take her time – she had the authority. Sure she did.

Flashes of reunions at the front door spun themselves through Mary's mind like an old movie. Tears and hugs and more emotion than Mary ever showed in real life – at least not until her body threw her completely out of sync. This was how she'd imagined seeing her father again when she was a little girl. He'd come back just for her, swung her up in the air, her hair shining in the sun as he kissed her cheeks and promised she was still his baby girl. But she was tiny in those fantasies. Deep down, she'd known they'd never come true.

Until now.

Downstairs, in a dark, dank cinderblock hallway were six doors, three on either side and with deadbolt locks. They shimmered eerily in the fluorescent lights.

"Y'all figured out how you're gonna do this?" Abigail asked in her Texas twang. It was the first time Mary had actually heard her since they arrived.

Brandi and Jinx exchanged looks, but it took Brandi less than a moment to answer.

"Mom…" she said. "I think Mary should go in first."

"What?" Jinx said in a hushed voice, clearly shocked by the suggestion.

"I think we need to give her a minute by herself," Brandi continued, completely composed and straightforward.

Since when did Brandi get to be such an adult? Mary was becoming more aware now. Brandi's thoughtfulness seemed to be helping.

"Is that okay?" Marshall asked his partner. He only had eyes for her.

Mary swallowed. She could be brave. Couldn't she? The fact that she even doubted it at all said so much.

"That's fine," Mary said quietly. "Thanks Squish."

"Well all right then," Abigail replied swiftly, kicking it into high gear. "You ready?" she asked, pulling a key ring out of her pocket, reaching to unlock the first door on the right side, closest to the stairwell.

_Yes. No. Not now. Open it! Open it now!_

"Marshall…" she found herself whispering.

Brandi and Jinx might as well have not been there. Marshall was the only one she could see. Maybe he was the only one she wanted to see. He was such a harbor in this storm. So dependable.

"I'll be waiting."

She knew that. But it helped to hear it.

"I'm ready," she said to Abigail.

Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The jingle of the keys. The opening of the door.

She felt her breath catch in her throat and it escaped in the smallest of gasps as the door swung open. A tiny whimper. Marshall slowly reached out and touched her shoulder.

And then he fell away. It was all so blurry and indistinct. Even Abigail faded. Mary stepped inside, first one foot and then the other, and just like that the door closed again.

And there he was. Sitting at a mounted table in the middle of a miniscule room, his back to the door. He hadn't even heard it open. His hair was thinning on top, but she could still see a hint of blonde.

She didn't know what made her speak.

"James," she said softly.

That was a Marshal instinct. Don't let them know who you are. She didn't call him dad.

His chair scraped on the metal floor and he turned around, standing in the process. She knew it was him, and yet she'd held him to the pictures in those Polaroid's for so long, he was unfamiliar. But behind the eyes…she saw the daddy she'd adored. And the longer she looked, the more she recognized the signs. The shape of his mouth was Brandi's. The size of his hands. Mary's.

He smiled. He actually smiled. He beamed, actually. Radiated light. A glow seemed to emanate from him.

"Mary, sweetheart."

That was it. That was all it took. She knew it was wrong, which made her even more grateful that Brandi or Jinx or, God forbid, Marshall could not see. But those words. The words from the letter she'd kept in her pocket since she was newly seven. The words she'd spent her whole life waiting to hear him speak again.

She flew forward unashamedly, throwing her arms around him, sobbing like a baby. How she'd longed to feel this safe, this protected, like she was a little girl all over again. She'd lost her childhood at seven years old, only to regain it when she was nearly forty. Time wasn't exactly on her side. But this. She'd waited her whole life for this.

She could yell at him later. She planned to. She had every intention of showing and telling him just what kind of havoc he'd wreaked on her life. She hadn't forgotten it for a minute.

But, for the first time in her life, Mary Shannon just wanted to play pretend.

"My girl," James said.

The wetness on her cheeks was warm.

A million kisses. The sun and the moon.

"Daddy."

**A/N: I had to do a little weepy reunion! Couldn't resist!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I own nothing related to IPS.**

He had insisted she sit down. He'd wanted her to go back out and ask for a glass of water. She did sit down. She'd had to decline several times to get him to shut up about the water. He acted like some old school gentleman, eyes twinkling as he gazed lovingly into the face of his oldest daughter, like he was just some normal dad.

Then he just talked. He told her stories about all the places he'd gone.

_While he wasn't with her._

Sights he had seen.

_He could've been seeing her too._

It was surprisingly easy to just listen to him ramble, to pretend he'd really been on some grand vacation instead of holding up banks all across the country. He was lucky the only sight he hadn't seen until now was the inside of a jail cell.

Her nerves were gone. She felt strangely calm and relaxed. She'd have to remember to tell Marshall.

"Mary…" James said slowly in his low voice, still smiling. "You have gotten so beautiful. You're just gorgeous."

She hated herself for doing it, but she grinned softly, her heart beating rapidly like it was caging butterflies.

"I don't feel beautiful," she said, still with that silly grin.

"Oh," James waved his hand in a no-nonsense way. "I have no doubt your little one will be just as stunning."

"Well…dad…"

That felt so weird. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually called him "dad" to his face.

"You know, I'm not sure I'm keeping the baby."

"Why not?" James furrowed his brow. He sounded so unaccusatory. As well he should.

"Well, I have a real dangerous job and…to be honest I don't really see myself as a mother. This wasn't something I did on purpose," she stated calmly.

"I didn't know your work was so demanding."

_Why would he?_

"I'm very busy," she explained.

And then she figured she might as well tell him. There was little harm he could do from behind bars.

"I'm a United States Marshal. I have been for over ten years."

He looked so proud. Mary wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started bawling with gratitude. But his unexpected kindness wasn't feeling so comforting anymore. It was starting to make her sick.

"I always knew you were strong," he proclaimed.

_As if he had something to do with it._

"Daddy, how did you know I was having a baby? How did you find out?" she had to know. He had to have been awfully close to have glimpsed her without her getting a good look at him first.

"Mary honey, I never let you go. I thought about you all the time – talked about you to whoever would listen. I've always made sure you were okay."

So he wasn't going to tell her. Fine.

"But…is that why you came?" she prompted, not settling completely for his evasive answer. "Marshall-," she stopped herself and rephrased, "Inspector Mann – he spoke to you after you were brought in – said the reason you showed up in Albuquerque was to visit someone. Were you coming to see me?"

James looked at his hands, twiddling his thumbs and clearly considering his answer.

"I was thinking about it," he admitted. "I wanted to see how you and your sister were holding up."

"But you didn't," Mary reminded him at once.

"I waited too long and got caught," James shrugged. "It was a stupid mistake."

_Stupid to get caught just for them. Just for them. _

"How is Brandi?" James asked, his tone turning abruptly somber. "I worry so much about her. She never had your bravery, Mary."

_Was this supposed to be flattery? _

"Well, I should probably let Brandi give her own statement," Mary said, as though referring to a witness. "But she's fine."

And Brandi's face burst suddenly into her mind. And she remembered her dedication to Peter. Her concern over Mary. Her desperation to help her and be by her side. The way she sold more cars than any of Peter's other employees. Her smile and her girlish giggle – her sweet sense of humor.

And here James thought she was some weak little flower? Who gave him the right?

Who gave Mary the right? Guilt washed over her in a wave.

"She's more than fine, actually. I'll let her give you the full report, but she's engaged to a wonderful guy and she has a job she's really good at. I am so proud of her."

Mary never knew optimistic honesty could feel as good as pessimistic honesty. If possible, even better.

"You've taught her well," James nodded, as though this explained it all.

He didn't get it.

"Brandi's done well for herself. Mom too."

He didn't ask about Jinx. He just moved right on to something else.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you sweetheart," he leaned forward, extending one hand as though to take one of Mary's, but hers were in her lap. "No matter where I was or what I was doing, I never forgot you."

It was going to spill from her like poison. She couldn't stop. And she didn't want to either.

"No matter where you were? Like on the road, holding up banks? Building a new life with another family? Never bothering to see what happened to the rest of us – like when Jinx was evicted from our duplex when I was ten? You didn't come back to see if she'd fallen drunk on her ass leaving two helpless little girls behind."

"You were never helpless Mary…"

"I was seven!" she burst, standing up with her hands on the table in front of them. "I was seven years old and raising my own mother! You _killed_ her when you ran out on us – she _never_ got over it! And Brandi-!"

Mary raised a hand wildly, as though there were no words to describe just how badly he'd messed her up too.

"Brandi never even had a chance! You left her to a second-grader and an alcoholic mother! Oh, but I guess it's no wonder you worried how she turned out!"

Once she'd started, she couldn't stop. This felt good too. Almost better than the weepy embrace. And better in a much different way.

"Dad, you had another family! You lived your life as though we never even existed!"

"I didn't know you knew about that," he said solemnly.

"Oh yeah!" Mary raved, her eyes growing crazier by the minute. "Lauren showed up on our doorstep after your little accident with more of your half-assed letters! And Scott drained Brandi dry to feed a 'minor' gambling problem!" she revealed, her fingers forming air quotes. "But as long as you had fun on your little adventures, to hell with the rest of us!"

James shook his head. The gesture made Mary furious. What did it mean? His transgressions were beyond words? Beyond an apology or even some explanation she wouldn't accept?

"Tell me this," Mary leaned in, fighting the urge to smack him across the face. "Why now? Clearly, you couldn't be bothered to _actually_ check up on me and Brandi, but you _so selflessly _drove all this way to at least watch from afar. So why? Your so-called grandkid? Is that it?"

Her burning desire to know was clouding her prying skills. She'd never wanted to beat the information out of somebody this badly, not even her most difficult witnesses.

"Honestly…" James began.

"Well!" Mary scoffed loudly. "That's a word I'm not sure is in your vocabulary."

"Don't get upset…" he continued.

"Upset?" she barked, throwing her hands up once more. "No – why would I be upset? Are you _insane?_ You've only been gone thirty years, evading the law in the process, and – silly me! – I'm just supposed to forgive it all in two seconds because you decide you want to be a grandfather!"

There was pain firing through her abdomen but she scarcely noticed. It was nothing compared to the ache in her heart at getting this all out in the open. It needed to be done, but it still hurt in more ways than one.

"I thought I could make a fresh start, Mary," he mumbled.

"Well, you can't," she snapped sharply.

It was the first time she'd ever told anyone who admitted to _wanting_ a fresh start that it was impossible. But if there was anyone incapable, he was sitting right in front of her.

"Mary, I wanted to know him. Or her…"

"In case your hearing vanished along with your mind – I don't know, maybe you missed this - but I am a _federal marshal_," Mary said slowly, as though he were five. "I would've turned in your ass before you could begin to get your hands on the kid. And like hell you are. He is going where you will never reach him."

Mary kicked her chair out of the way and strode around the table to the door.

"Mary…!"

James stood also and for the first time, Mary saw something in his eyes. It was only there for a fraction of a second, the smallest most miniscule flash. But it was guilt. For a mere moment, he was sorry he'd missed their years together. Sorry he wouldn't be a grandfather. Sorry his daughters had suffered for his mistakes. Mary had seen the same look in criminal witnesses. She knew how to spot it. But it usually happened the same way – there, and then gone.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice shaking.

Mary knocked on the door, signaling for the guard to come and let her out. She'd done it. And now it was over. A new wetness plagued her cheeks. She was trembling, but deep down she felt that fire she'd waited nine months to resonate again.

"I loved you too, daddy."

**A/N: I hope this chapter lived up to its promise! Thanks for reviewing!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Still don't own IPS.**

Mary left as slowly as she'd walked in. Every motion seemed to take twice as long; the sound of her boots on the floor, the swish of her blazer, the resounding thud with which the door swung shut. It wasn't until a voice interrupted all this that things seemed to return to normal speed.

"Oh, lord."

Everything fell into place as though they were puzzle pieces. They crashed into their spots; Mary's head spun as she realized what was going on. Her cheeks were hot and streaked, her breathing loud inside her ears. It took her longer still to discern that no one she'd expected to be in the hallway was there. Brandi, Jinx, Marshall, Abigail…they were all gone. So who had let her out?

"Dershowitz?"

Her voice sounded funny – foggy and clouded.

"Mary Shannon," he said, still apparently surprised. "Long time no see. Obviously," he chuckled obnoxiously, his eyes on her swollen stomach.

"Not long enough," Mary said grumpily, although this time it was an effort to keep up the kind of attitude expected of her.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing still working with – that," he nodded at her belly.

Mary scowled and shook her head. He didn't know.

"I'm not working," she said shortly.

"Then…what are you doing here?" Dershowitz asked, perplexed. "He's not one of yours?"

There was a question. It could be answered any number of ways. None were very appealing to Mary.

"What are _you_ doing back?" she decided to divert from the question and interrogate him instead. "I thought you were stuck upstate on a permanent basis. Didn't like you up north? Too hick for 'em? Screw up your case something awful?"

"None of the above," Bobby D. said pompously. "I closed the case and they transferred me back. Am I smooth or what?" he held out his hands, as if she wanted to get a better look at how amazing he was.

"Now, I answered your question; you answer mine. You gonna help us nail this guy? I don't know much about him – I don't even have a name yet – but they tell me he's an AMW. Confirm? Deny? Or you just gonna shuffle him off under the radar and call him Rumpelstiltskin? Spin his straw into gold."

Mary still felt hot and confined. She wanted to get out of here. How could she shut Dershowitz up? There was always the truth.

"He's not one of mine, Dershowitz."

"You wouldn't tell me if he was," he scoffed.

"True. But he's not. He's my father."

His eyes widened, but then narrowed as though she was pulling his leg. Some part of her wished she were.

"You're kidding."

Mary shrugged. Bobby D. seemed to sense she wasn't fooling around. It was undoubtedly starting to show on her face. With the way she was sweating, her face sticky from tears, it wasn't unlikely.

"That deadbeat is your old man?" he stepped forward, jerking his thumb at the door behind them.

"Guilty," Mary said quietly. 

"I have seen his rap sheet – a hardcore bum if ever I saw one."

Mary didn't know how to respond. He was right.

"Mary…"

He shook his head and she saw something different in him then. In her subconscious, she had a strange inkling of Bobby D. screaming her name and running to her, helping her. She often wondered if it was a dream or if she was mixing him up with somebody else. But that vision always allowed her to see him in another light. A brighter one.

"…Mary," he said again. "I know we haven't always been on the best terms…but…"

He held up his hands, calling a truce.

"That's rough," and he looked like he truly meant it. "I know the kind of cop you are. This has gotta be hard, but it's not like your sister."

"Not exactly so, 'wrong place at the wrong time,'" Mary nodded, casting her gaze to the floor.

"Did you ever even know the guy?" he asked.

"Yes," Mary said truthfully. "Till two days before my seventh birthday."

He looked confused for a minute and then she continued.

"That's when he left. Walked out the door and didn't come back. He wrote to me a few times, but…"

She shrugged, feeling strangely embarrassed about it. Why? It wasn't her problem.

"I'm sorry Mary," he said.

"Thanks Bobby," she replied, deciding to use his first name. "Not that I'm not enjoying our little bonding moment here but where the hell is everybody?"

She wasn't hiding her feelings very well. She wanted up and out. She was starting to feel seriously claustrophobic – more so than she did even toting the pigmy around. More than anything, what she wanted was to see Marshall. He'd said he was waiting.

"Abigail took them upstairs to wait; it gets kind of uncomfortable down here," he said, noting her own skittish behavior with a raise of his eyebrows. "Your partner in crime was very reluctant, but I said I'd bring you right up."

Mary laughed softly. Talk about not hiding anything.

"Good to see you Dershowitz," Mary stuck out her hand and he shook it.

"You too Mary."

She headed for the stairs. One foot up, she heard him again.

"Hey – Marshal."

She turned.

"Congrats."

He grinned, looking like some fun-loving uncle, eyes on her rotund figure.

Mary knew she should correct him. But she didn't.

**A/N: I really wanted to get Dershowitz in! I've always enjoyed his banter with Mary. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: IPS isn't mine.**

"God Marshall…I'm just so tired," Mary sighed. "All the time."

"It's not a weakness, Mary," Marshall replied gently. "Think about how much extra weight you're carrying around."

"I try not to," she muttered.

The two of them were sitting on the curb in the parking lot of the county jail. Jinx and Brandi were inside have their own proverbial "reunion" with James Wiley Shannon. Mary didn't really have to be there to imagine how it was going to go. Jinx would pretend to be angry with him. Brandi would cry and have to talk their mother off the ledge. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Still, her guilt hadn't evaporated. She had promised Brandi she'd go inside with her but after her own visit; she couldn't stomach the thought of another. Judging by the warning looks issuing from Marshall, Brandi had been forced to accept her sister's request.

"I should've gone with her," Mary said softly to herself.

"Brandi?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured.

"What you said was true," Marshall decided.

"What did I say?" Mary couldn't remember.

"You told her she was brave and strong and that she could handle James by herself. And that you'd be right here waiting when she was finished," he recited, practically word-for-word now Mary came to think of it.

The way he retained information really was weirdly extraordinary.

"Basically, you told her to be a big girl. That would be the 'Cliff Notes' version you're always so eager to extract from my loins."

"Don't say loins," Mary requested automatically.

Marshall chuckled.

"All that sounds like what you said to me," Mary realized.

"Not in so many words," Marshall murmured dryly. "But that was the general gist, yes."

Mary shook her head. She hoped Marshall was right. Or rather, she hoped _she_ was right – about Brandi having grown up enough to deal with such a situation on her own. Often, she could peg people's emotions and how they'd react at the drop of a hat. But her family had never fallen into that category. They kept her on her toes more than the witnesses.

"You want to tell me how it went?" Marshall asked cautiously. "Or save that pleasure for a later date?"

Mary sighed, sweeping her hair out of her face, letting her head hang between her knees. It was humid out; the wind was like hot breath on her neck. Even under the big open sky she felt trapped.

When she looked up, Marshall was patting the small space between them, as though wanting her to slide over next to him. She didn't much feel like getting touchy-feely, but the ache in her muscles and the strain of everything that was going on made her move over. Once there, she glanced up into his face. What was it about Marshall that made him so safe? He never fell apart. He was never a mess; he had no baggage. He never pushed her; he always just let her come in on her own.

"Come here," he said, waggling his fingers indistinctly toward his chest.

Apparently he didn't just let her come in on her own.

"I'm already here, doofus," she said, as though it were obvious.

"You told me you hadn't slept; I can tell that you're tired. Just rest. I won't tell anyone," he joked with ease.

Mary chuckled quietly, but she slowly leaned her head onto his shoulder. The chest was just going too far. Only the smallest part of her temple rested on the blade but she found that when she wasn't looking at him and allowed her mind to wander freely, it wasn't so hard to spill her guts. Or at least, not _as_ hard.

"There isn't that much to tell," Mary admitted. "It's hard to believe it's already over."

Above her, Marshall was quiet.

"We talked – he told me where he's been – I told him about me – he pissed me off when he started acting like Brandi was some loser. Everything came out. No big deal," if she'd felt like moving she would've shrugged to indicate, 'no big deal.'

Next to her head, Marshall was nodding.

"Marshall…" she found herself saying quietly. "It's so bizarre…"

"What is?"

"I feel so…" she searched for the right word. "Empty. I thought, once I saw him and told him how I felt, I'd feel better or fulfilled or some ridiculous crap like that. But I don't."

"Mary, you lost him today," Marshall said matter-of-factly. "Before today, he was just a face in some Polaroid's; he was everything you saw him as when you were seven – larger than life. Thirty years is a long time; it's easy to just put someone on a pedestal when you don't see them for three decades. There's no one to hold you accountable for who that person really is."

She knew he was right. It hurt to hear it, but Marshall never sugar-coated anything. She usually liked that about him.

"But…now he's here. He's back and you're forced to tie two different images together. It closes the door on that figure you made James in the past."

What would she do without Marshall?

"Which…in the long run is probably good. It'll give you the closure you've always needed," Marshall continued. "In the short run…it's a bitch."

Mary laughed, noting how her language was rubbing off on him.

"I'm tired Marshall," she didn't know what else to say. Right now, it was all she was feeling.

"I know."

He leaned back, so her head slipped slightly off his shoulder. Very lightly, he kissed her hair and put his left arm around her. She stiffened at first, and then relaxed into his touch. She felt so spineless and lost from who she really was. Could she ever get that back?

Marshall heard that.

"But you're still one badass woman to me, Mary."

She smiled.

"You too Marshall."

**A/N: I know that these past two were more transition-type chapters, but the start of the big finish is coming up next! (Although, I admit I drag that out some too.) Stay tuned and thanks for reviewing! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I shall never own IPS.**

Mary decided to go back to Marshall's place to have dinner. He dropped off Jinx and Brandi at Peter's house and the two of them headed on. She'd wanted to make sure Abigail wouldn't be there, or wouldn't mind.

"She's got a high-profile case going," Marshall had explained as they drove east toward his house. "I don't think she'll be back till late."

"Yeah, and I'm sure she'd react real favorably to some fat lady invading your home and devouring all your food. I can see it now – Nancy Drew and the Obese Overeater. The missing pie will be the first clue."

Marshall laughed watching her paint this picture with her hands. She was in a decent mood; she'd had to comfort Brandi after her afternoon with James, but all in all the two sisters seemed to have bonded over the experience. Marshall couldn't help noticing the careful way she had praised Brandi's determination and willingness to go it alone. He was glad to see that the two of them were becoming closer the more Brandi matured. Mary was letting go of those past indiscretions.

"Do you have pie?" Mary was suddenly asking after she put the thought out there.

"I think I have some leftover apple," Marshall said thoughtfully.

"From the Amish?" Mary wondered eagerly.

"Uh…no," he said, trying not to laugh. "Sarah gave that to us about six months ago. It would have some serious mold growing on it by now."

Mary looked as though mold was a small price to pay for the Amish apple pie, but she merely frowned and rolled her eyes.

"What are you thinking for dinner?" Marshall asked. "Unless you want to go straight to dessert."

"Don't be so sure I wouldn't," Mary pointed a threatening finger.

"I have some chicken I could grill," Marshall offered. "Sound good?"

"Whatever you can fire up is okay with me Paula Dean."

Marshall laughed and shook his head. It was nice having the sarcastic Mary back, even if temporarily. The longer the day went on, the more she seemed to warm to the idea of closure as far as her father was concerned. She just needed time.

Marshall pulled into his driveway and got out. Mary insisted on stepping out on her own, but not without a few reassurances to her partner.

"I'll be careful mommy dearest!" she called over her shoulder as he headed for the house. "I wouldn't want you to put me in time out for being bad girl!"

She managed to regain footing pretty well and headed in behind Marshall, but the minute she hit the front path she was met with a tangle of hot breath, flashing nails, and a warm, slippery tongue.

"Whoa Oscar! Easy boy!" Marshall called as the pit bull came crashing out of the house to greet Mary, leaping around and attempting to lick her face.

"Ah Jesus; I forgot about the mutt," Mary remarked, pushing him down.

"You don't fool me," Marshall smirked. "Dogs can always tell. They have an intuition humans don't possess. He missed his Aunt Mary."

"Aunt Mary?" she squawked as Marshall managed to corral Oscar toward him and snap on his leash. "I'll give you a thousand bucks never to say that again."

Marshall just laughed as he led Oscar around the yard to do his business. Mary ventured inside and took a seat on the couch, putting her feet up on Marshall's glassy coffee table. She knew she was leaving smudge prints. She'd have to tease him about it later.

Within a few minutes, Marshall returned and Oscar hopped up on the couch next to Mary, trying to get near enough to slobber all over her face but she successfully managed to shove him back. Eventually, he gave up and sniffed eagerly around her stomach which Mary found mildly amusing, but mostly just distracting.

"I think your mongrel wants to snack on the pigmy!" Mary called to Marshall who was rummaging in the kitchen getting things together for dinner.

"I'm telling you…dogs know," Marshall held firm, a maddeningly superior note in his voice.

"Yeah right," Mary scoffed as Oscar continued sniffing. "For all you know, that's just another pillow to rest your big fat head on. So don't get any ideas."

"And take your feet off my table," Marshall suddenly chimed in. "It was expensive."

Mary laughed and shook her head. No chance. Marshall must've known that was a lost cause because when he returned to the living room, he didn't say anything about it.

"I'm going out back to get the grill fired up," he informed her.

"If you want to hone your feminine domesticated skills, great. But you better tell Abigail she's the man in this relationship."

"You're walking a fine line, inspector," he mocked seriousness and held up a spatula as though it were a weapon, walking backwards out the sliding glass door at the other end of the room. Mary couldn't even see out into the yard from where she was sitting.

She heard the door slide shut, suffocating the hot air back outdoors. Mary sighed sleepily, regretting the fact that she had to pee – again – and knowing she'd have to hoist herself up to do it. Beside her, Oscar was staring with his big, sorrowful eyes. He whimpered as though he wanted something.

"I got nothing," Mary said truthfully.

Putting one hand on the armrest of the couch and the other on the coffee table, she stood up slowly with a loud groan.

It happened in an instant. There was a faint pop and Mary gasped as a gush of water – pee? – surged down her legs, soaking her pants and the floor around her. Before she could even think what to do, just as suddenly she was seized with her strongest contraction yet. She cried out and doubled over, grabbing the couch for support. It was like fire, a white-hot electrocution coursing through her abdomen at breakneck speed. She couldn't even breathe. The room was spinning, the pain was peaking, and she knew something must be seriously wrong. The mysterious appearance of the strange liquid – the rapid contractions. Beneath all the unexpected waves crashing down on her, Mary's mind cleared for a fraction of a second. There was only one thing to do.

"MARSHALL!" she screamed.

But he was outside. He wouldn't hear. The door had shut; she'd heard it.

She was going to pass out. She was going to faint; the pain wasn't going away and she didn't know what to do. She moaned loudly again, her breaths short and staccato; not nearly enough to drive off what she wanted to.

All of a sudden, Oscar exploded in a series of booming barks. He leaped off the couch and galloped into the kitchen, his nails skidding on the linoleum, and began to scratch frantically at the glass door in the corner. Still barking, he stood on his hind legs; his nails made a horrible noise against the windowpanes but he must've managed to hit the lock because he nosed his way out into the yard and went tearing across in a frenzy, right into the corner where Marshall was starting to grill.

"You have to go again?" he remarked sourly.

But it became clear very quickly this was not the reason for his reappearance outdoors. He barked and barked, spinning in circles, running to the house and back to try and drag Marshall along.

And then he knew.

"Mary!" Marshall shouted and followed his dog back into the house at a run. "Mary!"

He'd let his guard down. He'd managed to forget – as he believed Mary had wanted him to – that she was in a more fragile state. It didn't matter that she was a licensed dealer of the harshest cynicism he knew. She was still pregnant…she'd had such a rough day…and Marshall was kicking himself with every stride…

Oscar flew into the room, coming to an ungraceful halt in the kitchen, allowing Marshall in ahead of him. That's when he saw her.

She was curled over her knees, groaning and gripping her stomach. It couldn't have been plainer to Marshall that she was horrified. He dashed to her, putting a hand on her back, trying to meet her eyes.

"Mary, talk to me," he said in the calmest voice he could project. "What's the matter?"

"Something's wrong – Marshall, something's wrong…" she gasped, eyes still on the ground.

"You're all wet," he observed, skidding on the slippery floor, noticing her soggy leggings.

He was about to ask what happened, but just as quickly put two-and-two together.

"Mary, your water broke," he explained just as calmly as before; he was trying to pull her arms off her knees, trying to get her to look at him but she wouldn't let go, wouldn't face him.

"What?" she asked frantically, shaking her head, seemingly at no one. "What is that? I don't know what that is!" she said, as though he were a moron for expecting her to have any idea.

"It's when the amniotic sack ruptures; the part that breaks is what separates the baby's head from your cervix."

"Ruptures? What the hell?" she exclaimed.

Marshall instantly regretted his use of that word.

"It just means…" he began in an attempt to revise his statement, but she cut him off.

"Marshall, something is wrong…" she sounded desperate to convince him, to make him understand in a way she never had before. Marshall knew he had to make her see what was really happening.

"Mary, nothing's wrong," he said evenly, holding up a hand, trying to explain as he always did, but she wasn't listening.

Breathing quickly, she continued shaking her head, but unfolded her hands, crouching down on her knees, her head hanging limply toward the floor.

"They have to stop it; they have to…it isn't time…it isn't time yet…"

"Mary, look at me," Marshall instructed.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled her forearms off her legs and held one hand in his. He put the other to her shoulder, guiding her upright, and that's when he saw it in her eyes. Pure, unadulterated fear. She didn't have any idea what was going on and it was scaring her half to death.

"It is time," he said quietly. "You're thirty-eight weeks; the baby is going to be completely viable."

"But they can stop it…I mean I haven't…"

"No, they can't," Marshall answered truthfully with a slow shake of his head. It was the first time the truth didn't really make him feel better or satisfied, that solid-based fact wasn't his release.

"Mary, there's no stopping the contractions once your water breaks."

"Marshall…" she said, her eyes growing wilder and more disbelieving. "Marshall I…"

"I'm gonna call for an ambulance, okay? In fact, I'm gonna call Stan that way he'll get one through the service; it'll come faster."

Marshall started to pull his phone from his pocket, all the while without his gaze leaving her eyes, but apparently, she wasn't finished talking.

"I don't know what to do…Marshall; I don't know what to do…"

She was shaking her head, completely beside herself. She'd never been in a dire situation where she didn't know what to do. He knew the idea was completely foreign and terrifying to her.

"You're all right; just breathe," he told her. "I'm calling right now."

He dialed for Stan's number and waited, patting Mary's hair affectionately to try and keep her sane. She swallowed hard, letting out a long, low breath.

"Chief McQueen," Stan answered. He must not have been looking at the ID.

"Stan, its Marshall. Listen, Mary's gone into labor; I need you to send an ambulance to my place ASAP. Quick as you can," he added for good measure.

"Marshall, how many weeks is she? They're gonna ask when I phone it in."

"Thirty-eight. And her water broke at…"

He checked his watch and estimated Oscar had made it to him in about two minutes.

"6:47 PM."

"Copy that. I'm on it, inspector. She okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

Marshall hung up, grateful for the swiftness of his banter with Stan to get him through. Now, he focused on Mary, who was starting to look seriously alarmed.

"The ambulance is on its way. Right now, the best thing you can do is relax and breathe."

"Relax?" Mary shouted with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. "You expect me to relax?"

"Take a deep breath," Marshall reiterated. "Breathing will help you feel more in control. Try it with me."

He exhaled slowly, trying to get her to the same.

"Can you do that?" he prompted. "Quick inhales, steady exhales."

He could see from the look on her face she was convinced it wasn't going to do any good.

"Marshall I feel dizzy…I can't breathe…"

She put a hand, slippery with sweat, to her head, causing it to fall out of Marshall's touch. The other was still clutching her abdomen.

"Okay, just sit down. Sit down; that might make you feel better," Marshall suggested quickly.

She seemed to take this to heart, but she almost landed herself in the amniotic fluid, her boots sliding on the hardwood.

"Not in the puddle," Marshall said, as though there were frequently swamps of disgusting liquid polluting his floor. "Give me your hand – sit over here."

Obeying him at once, Mary extended a shaking palm and allowed Marshall to help her step over the mess and seat her on the floor next to him. Once down, she started breathing a little more evenly. Marshall kept a tight hold on her hand. For once, she didn't seem to mind and actually intertwined her fingers inside of his, twisting and turning with what he could only assume to be apprehension.

"I'm sorry you're all damp. I wish I had something for you to change into," Marshall said conversationally. "But they'll get you into a gown at the hospital; I'll have Jinx or Brandi…"

Marshall trailed away, noticing Mary's once-even breathing become harsher and more ragged. She winced and folded over her stomach again. Marshall could hear low moans issuing from somewhere deep in her throat. It pained him to see her fight to stay in control this badly.

"Are you having another contraction?" Marshall asked tenderly, but rather unnecessarily.

In the back of his mind, he registered that they were coming awfully fast since her water had only broken about five minutes ago. Some thirty seconds apart was brutal. Not to mention, it wasn't exactly routine. He knew instantly that he couldn't let this show.

"Try to breathe…you're okay, just try to breathe," was Marshall's constant refrain. He needed her to feel like she was safe; that was the only way they were going to get through this.

Mary gave his hand a hard squeeze. Marshall took this touch at face value and began to rub her back, hoping it would help soothe her and calm her down.

"Oh…Marshall…" she gasped.

"What?" he said immediately. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he suddenly remembered how much her back had been aching lately.

When she didn't answer right away, he figured her involuntary gasp was just her way of battling the pain but there was a new kind of fear in her voice. He wasn't used to seeing her so far away from him. Ordinarily they were so in-sync.

"Marshall…look…"

He glanced to what he saw her eyes cast against, pinched half-shut. His heart leaped into his throat. There was blood pooling on the floor, staining the planks dark red. Somehow, he'd managed to forget they were still holding hands and saw that her knuckles had turned white; she was gripping his fingers so hard. The adrenaline he was feeling must've made him block it out.

Suddenly, Mary grimaced again.

"Marshall I don't feel well…I don't…"

She winced and her head slumped against the couch, eyes sliding shut.

"Mary – hey!" he stood as quickly as he could without upsetting her position, snatching a pillow from the couch and putting it behind her head.

He had to act fast. He knew this wasn't normal. But how to get that across without scaring her even more?

"Mary…" he kneeled down in front of her, trying to see her face. "What do you mean don't feel well? Is it just the contractions? I know they aren't fun but they're routine. Is it something else?"

She sighed and shook her head. Marshall peered left and right, trying to get a read through her features, but her eyes were still closed.

"I don't know…" she whispered.

Marshall almost wished she were hysterical again. The passiveness was frightening and not at all like Mary ever behaved in a dangerous situation.

"The paramedics will be here soon," he decided to say. "Just try to hang on until then. They'll know what to do."

"Marshall…"

His blood ran cold at the softness of her voice.

"Mary!" he jumped back up and went to her side. He didn't know what he'd been thinking; he needed to be next to her; as close as he possibly could. "Mary come on, stay with me," he insisted, cradling her head in his hands.

This was all happening so fast. Ten minutes ago she was fine. Now she was bleeding and letting herself go. She was giving up. That, above all was what scared Marshall the most.

"Mary…" he patted her cheeks, trying to wake her up. "Mary look at me, come on; I'm here, I'm right here…"

There was a pulse in her neck. But she wasn't responding.

"Mary, you can do this. You can do this…" he became more frantic with each passing second, trying to convince Mary beyond all reason she was strong enough to fight whatever was going on inside her.

"I can't…"

This was ridiculous. This wasn't Mary. Mary would always go down fighting.

"Mary you shot your way out of a basement! You were gunned down in the street by some lowlife! This is a bee sting; this is nothing!"

"Marshall…"

Hearing his name made his heart shatter in what felt like thousands of pieces. She was trying – he knew she must be trying.

"I'm here Mary, I'm here. I love you; I'm not gonna let you fall."

He didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth anymore.

"It's not up to me…" she murmured softly.

"What?"

"It's up to him."

**A/N: Hi ho! Here we go! Hope Mary's roller coaster is up to par!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: No IPS for me.**

Mary was still only half-conscious when the ambulance arrived, despite Marshall's harried attempts to smack her back into speaking to him. The sirens screamed down the street, splashing red and blue onto his front lawn. Refusing to leave Mary's side, Marshall shouted for them to come in. Two males and one female, dressed in navy, ran in with a stretcher. Marshall immediately rattled off everything he knew without even being asked. This was one time he prayed his fount of information would be useful.

"Her name's Mary Shannon; she's thirty-eight weeks, water broke at 6:47 PM. She started bleeding about five minutes later and started to lose consciousness shortly after," Marshall prattled.

He choked on the word, "lose" feeling the tears in his throat.

"Miss Shannon, can you hear me?" asked the female paramedic as the two men slowly lifted her legs to get her onto the stretcher.

"Yeah…" Mary said faintly, eyes still closed.

"Mary-Mary, just keep talking; just keep talking. Just stay calm; you're okay," Marshall reassured her, brushing the hair off her face.

"How far apart are her contractions?" the female continued.

"Um…they started as soon as her water broke, but I'm not sure they stopped. They were coming close to thirty seconds apart."

Meanwhile, one of the male paramedics, a brunette whose tag read, "Chris" was attaching a blood pressure cuff to Mary's arm. She started to come to a little better, sensing all the movement. Her eyes flickered open and found Marshall.

"Hey-hey…" Marshall said shakily unable to keep the weak smile off his face; hope fluttering in his chest at the sight. "There's my girl…"

In the smallest portion of his brain that was still working, Marshall registered what he'd just called her. She didn't seem to notice; if she did, she didn't care.

"Marshall, what's going on?" she cast him a confused, bewildered look, noticing the cuff on her arm.

"They're just gonna take your blood pressure; it won't hurt," he promised foolishly. She knew that. He couldn't forget who she really was; her intelligence and her intellect. It was the only part of her he had to hold onto right now.

"Bleeding isn't severe," the second paramedic reported. "Seems to have subsided for now."

Marshall found himself breathing a little easier. This still didn't explain the quickness of the contractions or why she was struggling to stay awake, but at least whatever had caused the bleeding wasn't anything serious and had already stopped.

"All right, let's get her up," the female responded. "Chris, hold the cuff."

"What's happening?" Mary murmured.

Her lids opened again and locked onto Marshall's face. They were swimming with a hopeless fear he'd never seen there before. Instinctively, Marshall regained his grip on her hand as, somewhere far off; the paramedics counted to three and lifted the stretcher. They were already headed out the door, Marshall hurrying alongside, trying to stay with her. Her eyes were still open. That made his heart beat at closer to regulation speed.

"We're going to the hospital; they're going to figure out what's going on. As soon as we're in the ambulance I'm gonna call Brandi and Jinx."

He knew this was unlikely to make her feel better; Brandi and Jinx were not the most calming individuals but they were the only family she had. No matter what she said, he knew she needed them there on some level.

"Stan…" Mary said breathlessly, blinking fast as the setting sun hit her eyes.

"What about Stan?" Marshall asked quickly, knowing this must be important to her, jogging to stay in pace with the medics.

"His name…"

She didn't finish. Marshall didn't know what she was talking about, but he was strangely desperate to understand, to get them back on the same level.

"Stan's name?"

Mary shook her head and groaned again. Marshall thought fast to try and get her mind off it.

"Stan already knows what happened; I'm sure he'll meet us."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mary shrieked so loudly it made the hairs on the back of Marshall's neck stand up. His heart rattled in his ribcage; the stretcher slid into the back of the ambulance and Marshall clambered in after, almost losing his footing in the process. For some insane reason, he put his hand on her stomach and actually felt the contraction gripping her abdomen.

"Marshall!" Mary whimpered, sounding close to tears.

"She's having another contraction!" Marshall reported at the top of his voice as the double doors slammed shut.

Above his head, he heard the siren blare and felt the lurch as the ambulance sped down the street.

Mary was trembling, her breathing fast and frantic as she tried to wrap her head around what was going on. Marshall didn't even know how to do that, but knew he had to try. As the paramedics busied themselves with the blood pressure cuff and pulling down oxygen masks, Marshall did everything he could to help his friend.

"I've got you…just breathe…" Marshall slid his hands behind her neck so her head was in his lap. He could feel her shaking, hoping it was just the nerves and nothing more serious.

"Slow down…" he whispered serenely, rubbing one of her shoulders as best he could with her head in his lap. "Take it easy…I know it's…"

But he didn't get to finish.

"Marshall…I'm scared."

She'd said it. He'd never heard it before and he didn't want to hear it again. It was as though the world had stopped. Nothing made sense if Mary was frightened.

"Don't be scared," Marshall said, much more rationally than he felt.

He stroked her hair, which was growing damp with sweat and tried to hold her green eyes in his. If he could just keep her close, keep her with him, he felt everything would be okay.

"Don't be scared; they're going to figure everything out. They're going to do everything they can to get the baby delivered normally."

He bent and lightly kissed her forehead, doing what he could to comfort her.

"Rest if you need to; we'll take care of everything."

"Okay…" Mary slowly shut her eyes, her breathing growing weaker.

"BP 210 over 140!" called the paramedic named Chris. "Let's get her on oxygen!"

Marshall's head spun with this new information. With an enormous effort, he pulled his own feelings out of it to try and keep Mary calm. Unfortunately, the declarations were hard to miss.

"Don't…" she said incoherently. "Don't…"

He wanted to ask, 'Don't what?' but feared for not getting an answer, and drove right through.

"Mary, you've just got a little hypertension; they're gonna put you on oxygen to keep you stable, but I'm sitting right here. Hang onto my hand, don't worry…"

He said it all very fast, wishing and hoping it was easing her mind, that he sounded sincere. The female slid between them to fit Mary with the oxygen mask but, true to his word, Marshall didn't let go of her hand.

It was because of this that he dug out his cell phone with only three fingers, dialed, and relayed the news to Jinx and Brandi, telling them to meet him at the hospital.

"You're safe…" he whispered to Mary once he was back at her side, the ambulance's wailing just a distant hum.

Her fingers relaxed into his hand.

"Just hold on."

**A/N: I really hope my BP reading isn't too ridiculous LOL! I just wanted it to be high and tried to figure out the chart without sending Mary completely over the brink of civilization, if you get my meaning. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Standard disclaimer; do not own In Plain Sight.**

"When you called you said she was fine!"

"Where's Mary? Where's my baby?"

"Oh no…oh God…"

"Sit down…everybody just sit down…"

This was a disjointed, disconnected version of everything Marshall heard as the waiting room filled with Stan, Jinx, Brandi, and Peter. He tried to answer their questions, wanted to reassure them everything would be fine, but he was having trouble doing so when there was nobody there to tell _him_ everything was fine. He managed only a jumbled recount of the events before Peter finally equipped Jinx and Brandi with coffee and sat them in chairs side-by-side in the waiting room.

"Marshall…come on; come over here…" Stan stood from his own seat and motioned for his inspector to join him across the room.

Slowly, on knees that felt like Jell-O, Marshall followed him to the vending machine. He wasn't sure he could speak anymore without breaking down. He felt as though he'd been pulled apart at the seams. Seeing the strongest person he knew in a complete meltdown-frenzy was enough to do him in for a lifetime.

"Listen Marshall…" Stan began in an undertone, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder. "You were a champ; you did everything you could. When she comes out of this, it'll be because of you."

"You didn't see her, Stan," Marshall said, absolving himself of all credit.

"I'm sorry about what I said before," Stan replied guiltily, looking at the floor. "About you calling and saying she was fine; it was accusatory and out-of-line."

"It's okay," Marshall told him, and he meant it. "You were worried. And I thought she _was_ fine when I placed the call. Just…kind of freaked out."

"It had to be rough," his boss continued, placing three quarters into the vending machine. "She's such a pit bill; seeing her lose it like that…"

The reference to the pit bull made Marshall think of Oscar, which in turn made him think of Abigail. He hadn't even called her to tell her what was happening or why he wouldn't be home.

"Excuse me a second, will you?" he said to Stan, watching him pull a Hershey bar out of the slot.

"Yeah, sure."

He strode past Brandi, her head on Peter's shoulder, silent tears sliding down her face; past Jinx, leaning forward on her knees, her hands clasped together as though in prayer. He stood in the most secluded corner he could find to place the call to Abigail.

"This is Detective Chaffee," she answered in her chipper southern voice.

"Hi Abigail," Marshall returned flatly.

"Well, hey sugar bug; I'm kind of swamped right now but did you just call up to say you missed me?" she joked. "Cause you know that kind of banter isn't appropriate for the office."

Marshall forced a laugh but it came out sounding completely ludicrous, not at all like his regular laugh.

"Actually I called to tell you…"

He couldn't say it aloud. He swallowed, hoping this would make the words easier.

"To tell you…I…"

Mary's face. Her face, hot and scared, worried and grasping for a line to grab to pull her to safety.

"I'm…probably not going to be home tonight. Mary went into labor and it's not going well. Her contractions were too close together and she was bleeding…they had to put her on oxygen in the ambulance."

"Oh, Marshall," Abigail breathed, her voice laced with sympathy and concern. "I don't know what to say. Have you found out anything yet?"

"The last I heard they were going to perform a C-section once she was stable enough to go through with the surgery," he answered.

There was more he wanted to say, but he couldn't get through it. He started to choke up, tears leaking out of his eyes.

"She was so afraid…" he said thickly. "I just wanted to help…"

"Marshall, I am sure you did everything right," Abigail said in a matter-of-fact voice. "She'll pull through; they'll figure this out. Don't you worry."

"I'll try not to," Marshall confessed, not considering it a likely possibility.

"I'll be thinking of her," she said kindly. "A tough broad like Mary; this'll be a piece of cake."

"I'll tell her you said that."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get a grip. Abigail was understanding and kind and he couldn't have her thinking this hysteria over Mary was something more than it really was. Unless…

"There's…kind of a mess at home; I'm sorry," he said stupidly while he was thinking about all this.

"What do you mean? You left a mess?" Abigail was clearly confused.

"Well…" Marshall shook his head

It was coming back in droves; the horror in her eyes, the tears she'd worked so hard to keep in, but that he could see glimmering anyway. The thought made several more of his own slide down his cheeks.

"Well…Mary's water broke at the house and the blood…"

He couldn't continue. He spared himself a second to get composed, and then tried to give Abigail the consideration she deserved.

"I'm really sorry," he couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice. "I can get you a hotel room if you're…"

"No, it's okay," Abigail said quietly. "I can stay at my brother's."

Marshall nodded, not knowing why since she couldn't see him.

"Marshall…"

Abigail sighed; Marshall could hear her even through the phone. Even with his brain jammed, he thought he sensed what might be going through her mind.

"What's up?" he prompted, wiping his eyes so Jinx and Brandi wouldn't see.

"Never mind," she said. "Now isn't the time."

So his senses hadn't failed him completely.

"Is it important?" he asked, trying to play dumb.

"When you do get home…" she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"We should talk."

He was about to agree, when he heard a sound to his right and turned; Mary's doctor had emerged in a pair of scrubs. The others stood, Jinx looking as though she was going to strangle the information out of her while Brandi clung to Peter, looking terrified. Stan hurried over, anxious to hear as well.

"I've gotta go; we might have news," Marshall relayed to Abigail.

"You keep me posted."

She sounded like she meant it. And he owed her that.

"Yeah."

He flipped the phone shut and went to join Stan.

"What's happening?" Stan was already asking. "How's Mary?"

"She's stable," Doctor Reese said at once.

The group breathed a collective sigh of relief; Brandi shed more tears and Peter rubbed her hair, whispering in her ear.

"She's gonna be okay…she'll be okay."

"As for the bleeding, it was less serious than we thought," Doctor Reese continued. "Just some minor spotting; not ideal, but easily remedied."

The others nodded, eager to hear more.

"However, Mary's blood pressure had spiked to an extremely dangerous level. It was causing the contractions to come at closer intervals; the reason she was losing consciousness was because of convulsions caused by the hypertension."

"Oh…" Jinx's hands fluttered around her face; she looked horrified at the very thought.

"But…but she's okay? She's okay, right?" Brandi said hoarsely, her cheeks wet with tears.

"Like I said, she's stable," Doctor Reese assured them. "We gave her some medication to lower her blood pressure."

"So what happens next? What about the baby?" Stan voiced what all of them were thinking.

"Well, as her water has already broken it's essential we proceed with delivery. However, at this point it is safest to go ahead with a C-section. She's being prepped right now and should be ready within a few minutes. Barring any other complications, the baby should be viable."

"Oh, thank God," Jinx moaned dramatically, almost falling back onto the chair in the process. "Can we see her before surgery?" she asked.

"Right now, she's still out on anesthesia but we're bringing her out of it for the cesarean. Unfortunately, she probably won't wake until we've already started; you'll have to wait until afterwards to see her," the doctor explained.

"Can one of us be with her? I'm her mother," Jinx reported at once.

"Are you the father?" Doctor Reese spoke directly to Marshall. "I was told you were the one who brought Mary in."

"Well…no…" Marshall admitted, although part of him considered lying. He knew he couldn't with the others standing there.

"Doctor, I'm Chief Stan McQueen," Stan flashed his badge in an instant. "Mary is in my employ. Mr. Mann here is her best friend; I am completely confident in saying she would want him by her side for the delivery."

Marshall's heart swelled with gratitude for Stan. He almost missed the look of mild outrage on Jinx's face before Brandi and Peter talked her down. The presence of the badge seemed to waive Doctor Reese's protocol; she gestured for Marshall to come with her.

"Very well. I'll grab you some scrubs; let's go."

Without another word, Marshall was striding behind her two steps at a time until Jinx's voice made him turn.

"Marshall!"

He waited.

"…Take care of my girl."

Marshall nodded.

"You got it."

**A/N: I really-really tried to come up with a probable scenario to explain what happened to Mary. Since I was really little, I've been fascinated with pregnancy (for some reason) and so I've always read up on it from time-to-time. I was hoping this scenario was believable! **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Nothing related or connected to IPS belongs to me.**

Her eyes had become the heaviest part of her body. There was so much work involved in opening just one of them. It felt like a year was passing in the time it took just to see the outside world.

The outside world was secluded; a strange sort of spotlight was shining harshly into her tender lids. Mary squinted and tried to discern the shapes. Her head was swimming, her thoughts foggy and unfocused. An obnoxious beeping noise was far off in her subconscious, muffled voices and flashes of silver.

Then her memories caught up with her senses.

Her pants had gotten soaked; she'd made a mess of Marshall's floor. The pain was never-ending, beyond time and space; it hadn't stopped for a second. And the blood – ruby red and darkening the hardwood. But there had been voices too. Well…one voice that she could remember.

"_I love you; I'm not gonna let you fall."_

"Marshall?" she whispered, so softly she was sure no one heard.

But like something out of a dream, he was there. His face swam above hers; his blue eyes, his ridiculous haircut; his reassuring smile and hint of stubble on his chin.

"Marshall?" she said again.

"Welcome back."

He spoke.

Other objects were coming into focus now too. A big blue curtain. Trays of tools. Doctors in surgical masks. Marshall's hand in her own.

"Marshall, what's going on? What happened?" she asked groggily.

A sentence of such length made her head spin. She felt suddenly like she was going to puke and registered she should say something.

"I'm gonna be sick…"

"It's all right; you're just woozy from the anesthesia," Marshall explained calmly. "It'll pass."

"What's happening?" she repeated.

Marshall looked down into the face of his partner. She was disoriented and clouded; her eyes were skirting left and right, trying to get a handle on things. She gazed at him for help.

"Well, you took things a little quickly and the pigmy is coming out – skipping the whole pant like a dog, breathe through the pain portion."

"Jesus…" she murmured. "Not now…"

He couldn't help but smile.

"You're getting a C-section. Baby's on its way as we speak," Marshall conceded.

"Right now?" Mary asked, shocked to her very core. This couldn't be happening.

"Yup. Right now."

The onslaught of information was too much to handle. She decided not to say anything for fear of expelling more fluids but Marshall seemed to sense she was overwhelmed and rubbed her hair gently.

"Just relax. You're doing great," he said.

"He's right!" came a voice from the other side of the big blue curtain. "You're hanging tough Mary; just a couple more minutes!"

Until what? Despite the fact that Mary had missed most of the aspects that went along with natural childbirth, she couldn't help but feel that the rush to the main event was premature. She just wasn't ready. She didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl – never mind the references to "him" throughout the nine months. She didn't know where it was going, or with whom, or for what…why she was even handing it over in the first place…

"I'm not ready," Mary whispered to Marshall, just as she had the day before when all of this was still in her rearview mirror.

"You don't have to make a decision on the spot," Marshall assured her. "Focus on the here and now."

"But…"

Her voice was drowned in a deafening, ear-splitting wail from the other side of the curtain. Marshall laughed out loud and Mary's heart skipped about ten beats. It couldn't be…

"Congratulations Mary!" sang Doctor Reese. "You've got yourself a baby boy!"

_No. No she didn't. He's not hers. He is…but…_

"Mary…Mary…look at him…"

Marshall was crying. Actually crying – weeping unashamedly, tears streaming down his cheeks. This couldn't be…was she really…?

"Oh Marshall…" she breathed, not knowing what for.

All she knew was that seeing Marshall completely lose his cool for this little person, whose cry was echoing and reverberating around the walls, was making her heart soar in a way she never expected.

"He's…I mean…he's healthy, isn't he?" Mary found herself asking without even thinking about it.

There was movement on the other side of the curtain. Rationale came soon after and Mary realized they were probably making the kid halfway presentable. She couldn't pretend she wasn't grateful for that.

"Mary, he's beautiful."

No one could fake that kind of emotion. Whatever Marshall was seeing, it was definitely beautiful.

"Twenty-one inches long…" reported a voice she didn't recognize. "Nine pounds, six ounces."

Marshall laughed again.

"You fed him well," he said, still chuckling.

"Jesus…" Mary muttered, shaking her head at the thought of pushing that out one-handed.

"Mary, he has hair," Marshall jabbered, not paying the slightest bit of attention. "Just a little…it's blonde…"

Everything about this was amazing to him. Every second to be treasured.

"Here he is…" Doctor Reese proclaimed.

And without warning, she placed a swaddled; fidgeting bundle into Mary's waiting arms. Well, not exactly her waiting arms. Doctor Reese had to work her stiff limbs around the baby a little awkwardly because Mary was hardly expecting the arrival. Once he was secure, she floated away and Marshall crouched down. He was inches from Mary's face.

"I…I don't think I'm holding him right…" Mary confessed, eyes darting this way and that to make sure he wasn't going to slip out of her grasp.

"Of course you are," Marshall said sincerely. "Look…he's even stopped crying."

So he had. His tiny mouth was working slowly, pink lips smacking softly. His big dark eyes stared up at Mary, wonderment and – was it? – confusion at all these people and what he was suddenly doing here.

"Quite a ride, huh kid?" Mary remarked.

He cooed softly, fighting his blankets, little arms poking their way out. Mary saw ten little fingers, flexing and batting at the air. She could see him fighting to get comfortable, fighting to figure out what was going on.

Fighting.

"He made it," Marshall murmured, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. "Tough little man."

Mary couldn't help it. She smiled at the thought. It was true he'd made it here on some pretty tough odds, not the least of which was being housed inside of Mary. If he could survive that, surely he could survive anything.

The little boy settled down; his arms relaxed and fell away beneath the blankets. He nestled his head inside Mary's chest and, against her breast gazed up into her face, eyes round and full of hope. A spell fell over Mary; warmth and light spread from the little being in her arms as he recognized his mother.

_No. She's just Mary. Just Mary._

But her son whimpered quietly and she instinctively reached out with one finger and stroked his cheek.

"Shh…" she whispered. "Shh…"

Marshall did his best to pull himself away from what he was feeling, and tried to focus on what he thought Mary must be feeling, knowing this child wasn't staying with her, that their moment right now could be the first and last.

"Just think Mary…" he said. "No more trips to the bathroom every twenty minutes…no more fat feet…no more morning sickness."

But she wasn't thinking about all that. She heard what Marshall was saying and until this moment, believed just what he did – that when this time came, that was all she'd be celebrating too. But something else was on her mind. And it was aloft in her arms right now.

Marshall, as Marshall always did, seemed to sense what was happening to his best friend. He left the pregnancy clichés behind and slid Mary's nearest hand into his, making sure not to upset the baby. Without thinking about what he was doing or if she would care, he kissed her knuckles, holding the fist in both his palms. Mary turned at the touch and actually smiled – albeit softly.

"You feeling okay?"

Mary nodded, "Mmm hmm."

"Job well done, inspector," Marshall whispered.

Mary looked down at her son, slowly pulling her hand back to regain the grip around his head.

"Marshall, he's…"

Words couldn't describe. It was less what she saw, and more what she was feeling. She'd never been good with that sort of thing. That was probably why she couldn't get the words out.

Resigned, she shook her head and resolved not to say anything. Instead, she turned to Marshall, tears still fresh on his face. She'd always taken the fact that he was so dependable for granted; she hadn't realized until today what a friend he truly was. A best friend. A strange memory flashed through her mind, as though from a past life.

_Here's to the best friend I've ever had – could ever hope to have. The girl for whom no man will ever be good enough. I hope you know that…I love you. And…I wish for you nothing but a lifetime of happiness._

A single tear slipped out of Mary's eye. Marshall grinned.

"What?" he asked.

Between them, the baby boy cooed softly again.

"You saved my life," Mary whispered.

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You're always saving my ass."

Marshall merely chuckled but the laughs faded as Mary leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"_I love you; I'm not gonna let you fall."_

"Thanks, partner."

**A/N: Yay! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! But don't count your chickens before they hatch on this one…anything can happen! Thank-you for reviewing! **


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: In Plain Sight doesn't belong to me.**

"He's gorgeous…" Brandi whispered, peering through the nursery glass, fingers and nose pressed up against the panes.

"You're going to leave smudges," Peter laughed, putting an arm around his fiancée.

"I don't care," Brandi proclaimed, completely unabashed.

Peter chortled and kissed her temple. He wanted to tell her not to get attached. Baby Boy Shannon, as his name plate read, wouldn't be Baby Boy Shannon forever. Biologically, he might be their nephew but within the day he could be off someplace they'd never see him again. While he understood Mary's contemplation of adoption, even with as little as he knew about her job, he feared for Brandi's loss when the little one was shipped away.

"He is very handsome," Peter found himself saying instead. "He looks like his mom and his aunt."

He knew the wording, the titles were unwise but he couldn't help himself.

"I wish I could see her," Brandi murmured. "Mary, I mean."

"The doctor said she'll be out for awhile. It's been a long day."

"I just want to make sure she's okay…" Brandi continued. "Just…judge for myself, you know?"

Peter smiled at her concern.

"I do."

Brandi placed a finger up, tapping at the little one in his tiny bed beyond. She let out a girlish giggle as he yawned.

"Mark is going to flip out," Brandi whispered, still inches from the glass.

"Did he say when he'd be here?" Peter asked.

"He had to fly out, but he said he'd get here as soon as he could."

"How did he react when you told him?" Peter couldn't help wondering.

Brandi shrugged. She knew she should've left the news to Mary to reveal, but whether she hung onto this baby or not, Mark was still a father and deserved to know it. Despite her sister's insistence that Mark was an irresponsible asshole who couldn't care less about his flesh and blood, Brandi couldn't see him turning his back on his child. She also knew he would probably support Mary's decision to go through with the adoption if it was what she really wanted. Still, finding out you were a dad when you didn't even know you'd knocked anyone up had to be shocking to say the least.

"He was pretty cool with it," Brandi finally said, stepping away from the glass. "Mark's a pretty mellow guy."

"Would Mary agree with your assessment?" Peter asked, trying to lead her away from the nursery but Brandi's feet were firmly planted.

"No," Brandi scoffed. "I think admitting that Mark is a decent guy scares her because she did love him once. She pushes away anybody she loves."

"I don't think that's completely true," Peter replied thoughtfully. "She's coming around."

"I guess," Brandi murmured.

Peter could tell she wasn't really listening. Her eyes were locked on the little boy in the bassinet in the first row of newborns. She slipped out of Peter's grasp, folding her arms on the ledge in front of the window as though she planned to watch him for hours.

"She would be such a good mother, Peter," she said wistfully.

He stepped forward and put his arm back around her.

"I believe you. But…Mary's different than most. She needs to do this her own way. At least we know that wherever he is, he'll be safe."

"I just wish…" Brandi shook her head, a few tears flying. "I mean…I…"

She turned abruptly from the window, staring hard into Peter's face.

"Mary raised me. She's taken care of me since she was seven. And I don't feel like I've ever been able to repay her for doing that."

"It was a tricky situation, Brandi," Peter said gently. "You didn't have any choice in the matter. Mary did what she felt she had to."

"But even when I was older, Mary was always pulling me out of messes. I just wish I could return the favor…"

"I know where you're going with this," Peter interrupted. "We made our offer and she turned us down. We need to respect that," he added firmly.

Brandi shook her head, but then nodded, looking at the floor as though ashamed.

"Don't do this to yourself Brandi," he whispered. "We can have a family of our own. And if Mary decides she wants that down the road, she will too."

Brandi put her arms around her future husband; he kissed her hair and squeezed her shoulder. Then, the two of them walked arm-in-arm down the hall, back to the waiting room.

"Somehow," Peter said. "It will fall into place."

**A/N: Sorry, kind of a segue chapter! More coming!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Do not own In Plain Sight.**

It had been an hour or so since Mary had awoken, but she'd insisted on not having visitors. She didn't know what the doctors had told those in the waiting room, but they hadn't come in so someone was corralling them back.

Her mind was buzzing. She could not keep that baby. Her job was too dangerous and, selfish as it might've been, she lived for it. It was, as Raph's aunt had once said, what made her heart beat. She knew deep down she could never be the mother that kid needed.

But how could she send him away? How could she just drop him off and forget he ever existed? That's what her father had done, hadn't he? And look how she turned out as a result – cold, unfeeling, cynical and, in many respects, incapable of love. Could she live with that on her conscience if she packed up her little boy on a permanent trip to the Templeton's?

Her cell phone, left out on the night table along with her keys and wallet, started ringing. She knew if a doctor or nurse had been around, they'd have "strongly advised" her not to answer. Come to think of it, Marshall and Stan would've said the same. But curiosity made her reach out to see who it was.

Mrs. Anders – her adoption placement counselor. Oh, shit. What now?

Mary wasn't one to avoid or duck out of a commitment. She had to answer.

"Hello?" she said hoarsely.

"Mary – Georgia Anders," the woman responded. "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but-."

"Don't worry about it," Mary interrupted flatly. "What's up?"

She was just prolonging the inevitable. But she refused to blink first.

"Mary…I have a…well…"

Mary waited through her hemming and hawing as patiently as she was able.

"Well…an…extenuating circumstance that I need to discuss with you," Mrs. Anders finally said.

"Extenuating circumstance," Mary repeated blankly.

Had they perhaps gotten wind of the fact that her labor had not progressed as planned?

"What is it?" she prodded.

There was another pause. This time, the silence irked Mary to the breaking point. Some things never changed.

"We had a very young and frantic mother come in last week. She delivered last night and wants the baby given up as soon as possible…"

"What does this have to do with me?" Mary couldn't resist asking.

"She was given some preliminary files to look through and was narrowed down to two couples, one of which was George and Kate Templeton."

_Wait…what?_

"So…you gave her their file knowing I had as-much-as-decided on them for my child?" Mary wasn't able to keep the accusatory note out of her voice.

"Mary, the Templeton's have been looking to adopt for years; they have had a string of bad luck and we are trying our hardest to give them a baby. Forgive me for saying so, but you seemed to be expressing doubts the last time we met. We wanted to open up another possibility for them – it's a risk for them too."

Mary didn't see how, but didn't respond. She didn't really know why the whole thing was bothering her anyway. Here was a ready-made excuse to drag things out.

"Mary…this girl is ready to hand over her child today," Mrs. Anders continued. "Now, if you're sure about George and Kate, we can set something else up for the teenager and they'll wait until you deliver…"

Mary suddenly realized Mrs. Anders didn't know the baby was already here. Mary wasn't even sure she knew at this point. It was all becoming too much. All of a sudden, her child didn't have a home. Picking couples all over again. But, could she really pretend this was such a bad thing? Mary didn't believe in signs. That couldn't be what this was.

"Kate is here with me if you'd like to speak with her," Mrs. Anders offered.

What was she supposed to say to that? Their first meeting was whirling through her mind, her indecision and unconventional fear of letting someone down, of needing more time that she didn't have to take.

"I guess," Mary somehow agreed.

She tried to swallow while the phone was being transferred. She suddenly wished she'd read up on adoption a little more. Was this even legal? Mary suddenly found herself thinking that if she hadn't messed around for nine months, Mrs. Anders might've believed she was a little more serious. Meeting the adoptive parents two days before delivery didn't exactly reek of a sound decision.

"Mary?" Kate's voice suddenly floated through the phone.

"I'm here," she answered shortly, almost speaking over Kate in the process.

"Mary…I understand the position this has put you in," Kate said at once. "We know how hard it will be to choose another couple so late in the game. We've been on the other side of it; we know."

Mary didn't answer. This wasn't why Kate wanted to talk to her.

"Whatever you decide is fine. George and I have every faith you will do what is best. We can wait until you deliver…"

There was no mistaking the note of uncertainty in her voice. If she waited, the only other opportunity to have a child was gone. She was willing to play all her cards just to hold up her end of the bargain for Mary, who didn't have a clue what she was doing.

"Why are you…?" Mary shook her head, wanting to make sure she was hearing things correctly. "Why are you leaving this up to me? I mean…you could just…"

Mary didn't know how to explain what she was thinking. She could practically hear Marshall being overly indulgent in terms of her ability to think straight after giving birth an hour ago.

"We aren't going to back out of our commitment to you," Kate promised, sounding completely direct. "This is your choice."

And so it was. Deep down, Mary knew what her heart wanted. She'd become so skilled in cutting off her emotions, but it seemed they'd been tied back together along with her abdomen.

She thought of helping people build new lives, helping them adjust, of second chances, and running face-first into the fire when things went wrong. It was what made her tick. She feared nothing and no one.

"Kate, you need to help that girl," Mary found herself saying.

She could practically hear the other woman gasp.

"Choose her."

And just like that, it was done. Kate was sobbing, which Mary barely heard. At long last, she and George were going to be parents. Amazing, how they could embrace it in a way that Mary never could. And still couldn't.

"I won't forget you, Mary," Kate said thickly, her voice murky with a watershed of tears.

"Congratulations Kate," Mary whispered.

And she hung up.

Mary sat, feeling outside herself, and yet completely in control all at the same time. It was like she knew who she was again, like a job she had to do – a witness she had to protect. Protect. Protect and relocate.

A nurse entered the room, smiling cheerily. She carried a clipboard and was slipping a pen into her pocket. Her scrubs were teal with tiny pink hearts. Pink and purple. Revolting.

"Miss Shannon, do you think you're feeling up to visitors?" she asked. "Your family is very anxious to see you."

She knew her answer.

"Yes," she replied curtly with a nod.

"Just one at a time, okay?" the nurse requested. As if that would be a problem.

"Sure," Mary agreed.

"Do you have a preference on who we let in first?"

Mary swallowed. She could do this. She could.

Of new lives, second chances, and staring down the barrel of the gun.

"My sister. Brandi."

**A/N: Hope the twist wasn't TOO knee-jerk! I tried to give some hints along the way but who knows, maybe it's completely out-of-the-blue. I hope readers aren't too disappointed, but it'll get a brief explanation soon. Just a handful of chapters left!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I do not own In Plain Sight.**

"MARY!" Brandi exclaimed at a decibel only dogs could hear.

She crashed through the door, hands fluttering wildly around her face, practically falling down to get to the bed. The nurse who escorted her looked as though she thought Mary was perhaps loopy from the drugs if this was her first choice for a visitor.

"Mary, I'm so glad you're okay!" she burst. "They took you away so fast when Marshall brought you in! I thought…I mean…"

Her voice finally trailed away, unable to express just how much she'd worried about her big sister.

"I'm fine, Squish. Sore as hell, but fine."

Brandi laughed, tears spilling out of her eyes. Clearly, she was in the same boat as Marshall; she stepped to Mary's right side and hugged her, Mary's head in her chest. She even went the extra mile and kissed her hair.

"I was so scared," Brandi confessed, still crying unashamedly.

"It's over, Squish. We're out of the woods, so put away the waterworks."

Brandi laughed again and sat down on the bed next to Mary. It was obvious she was attempting to stop bawling, but it was a hearty attempt indeed and one that wasn't succeeding very well. Finally, she managed to speak.

"You saw him, right?" she asked. "Marshall said they let you hold him before they took him to the nursery."

"Yeah, I saw him," Mary answered dully.

"I was down there for an hour at least," her sister shared without preamble, fingers twittering excitedly in all directions. "Me and Peter. He thinks he looks like us – wild, isn't it?"

Mary tried to smile, but didn't answer.

But then, it just came out. Spilled and fell apart. It was though a switch had been flipped, a box opened, secrets revealed at the drop of a hat. She couldn't stop herself. It just happened.

"I want you to take him."

"What?" Brandi furrowed her brow, not catching on. "Who?"

"The baby. My baby. I want him to stay with you and Peter."

Brandi gaped, her eyes as big as dinner plates, tears subsided and stuck to her cheeks, stained with trails of mascara. She shook her head, mouthing soundlessly, eyebrows still wrinkled as though she couldn't possibly comprehend what she was hearing.

"What?" this time, it was a much different, 'what?' Her voice was hushed and disbelieving. "I mean…what…the Templeton's. What about the Templeton's?"

"They've had another offer," Mary explained shortly. "But I guess I should admit I was thinking about not going through with it, anyway. If I'm gonna be unconventional, I might as well be unconventional with the Shannon name. That's how we roll, right?"

"Oh Mary..." Brandi whispered.

"Squish, I'm gonna tell you something I never want to leave this room. I don't have big weepy moments where we laugh and cry and come to terms and I won't have this one getting back to anyone."

Brandi nodded.

"You can do this. With or without Peter. I want you to know I think you're completely capable. You have become everything I hoped you would when you were passing out in basements in New Jersey."

"Oh Mary…" she said again.

"But Squish, this isn't a game," she stated firmly. "This kid is _yours_. Just because he came shooting out of my hoo-hah – or should've anyway – doesn't mean you can drop him on my doorstep if things get hard. I want him with you where I know he will be safe…where I know he will have a mother if anything happens to me. Even if nothing happens to me."

Brandi was falling apart in sobs, hugging her knees, tears dripping all over her jeans.

"Don't think I'm not serious," Mary was determined to be clear. She believed in Brandi more in this moment than she ever had before, but she couldn't erase those nagging doubts in the back of her mind.

"I understand," Brandi managed hoarsely. "As long as you're sure."

"Yes," Mary said quietly but distinctly. "I am."

"Mary…" Brandi began, sniffling unattractively to try and get a grip. "I know you didn't want this to turn into some huge deal, but I have to ask…"

She brushed her bangs behind her ear, and then attempted to stem the flow from her nostrils thanks to all the bawling she was doing.

"What changed your mind? I mean…you said no…when Peter and I offered. What's different now? Even if the Templeton's did get another chance, that doesn't mean you couldn't just pick some other Random Joe…"

"I just…" Mary interrupted, but then found that putting it into words was difficult. She shook her head, "It's not important…why."

"Please tell me," Brandi whispered earnestly. There was no urgency in her voice, no press or push. It was actually this that made Mary start talking again.

"God, I just…" she cast her eyes around at the stark walls, adorned with generic paintings of flowers, fields, and streams. "Squish…part of me wanted to try. I know how to take care of people – it's one of the few things I'm sure about. But…I can't give up being a Marshal. I just know that I can't. And I would never want to stray down a path with this kid and not reach the end. I don't want to resent him before he's even started walking."

"But…?" Brandi prompted, sensing there was more.

There was. Mary didn't know why she was so nervous admitting it. Brandi was her sister – there shouldn't be any trepidation in that.

"But…I can't do what dad did. I can't just leave him wondering all his life where he came from. Don't get me wrong, adoption is totally valid but…his roots are here. With us. Call me a selfish bitch, but I need him to know that even if I can't bring myself to raise him, I want to be in his life. He has to know I love him."

It was like running a race. She felt strangely out of breath but Brandi, incredibly, was smiling.

"That isn't selfish, Mary."

"Why do people keep saying that?" Mary put up her hands, as though it were an insult.

"It's time you did something for yourself," Brandi stated baldly. "You've spent your whole life doing for others, even if it was with reluctance."

"Reluctance; that's a big word," Mary muttered.

"But I think you did all those things because you thought if you were a good girl, dad would come back."

"Christ," Mary shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand. "Paging Doctor Finkle."

"It's true, Mary."

For once, Mary allowed the silence to cloak them, wrap her up and take her way until she was ready to speak again. But it was Brandi who broke first.

"I'll do this for you on one condition," Brandi wiped her eyes, looking determined, a sliver of amusement behind it.

"Yeah, what's that?" Mary scoffed.

"You're not gonna criticize everything I do for this kid. If he's mine, you're going to have to let me make my own mistakes."

Mary considered. She knew the request was a fair one. There was justice in it and that was something Mary lived for.

"Deal."

Brandi reached for her sister's hand and held it to her lips, kissing it.

"Now get out of here," Mary said swiftly, pulling her fingers out of Brandi's grasp. "Go tell Peter he's a daddy."

**A/N: So, I kind of feel like I have to give an explanation for choosing to go this route. First of all, just because I had it play out this way in my little story doesn't mean I want it to go this way on the actual show. Considering Brandi bailed on Peter in the finale, this would not be the best option. But I built with different blocks here, showing Brandi as who she was until those final moments at the wedding, and making sure to show that Mary has recognized her changing along the way. I felt like, to keep Mary in character in this particular version of events, she felt that pull towards the child she carried but not enough to give up a job she has to do, one that's important to her and she doesn't want to do either job halfway. She can't be a part-time Marshal or a part-time mother, but she knows she can't subject her child to the kind of heartache she felt when her father walked out on her.**

**I am prepared for a little criticism here, but please be kind and fear not! There are two chunks left and I hope you will enjoy the way I tie things up.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: In Plain Sight doesn't belong to me.**

The fog lifted. Everything was clear and pure and…Mary's instinct was to perish the thought, but…_right_ with the world.

Brandi was in heaven. Not just some girlish-look-at-the-cute-baby-barf-worthy fantasy, but true unconditional heaven. Mary saw it in her eyes as she held the little boy, only a few hours old. It only reinforced the thought that she was capable of being a mother.

Peter took it in stride, making jokes about pooling his _many_ funds together to put a deluxe nursery in their house. It hadn't occurred to Mary they didn't even have a bedroom set up, but Peter reassured her it would come together. Oh, the advantages of being wealthy.

"Hey Squish?" Mary called from the bed where she was practically being held captive. If the spot where they'd sewed her back together didn't hurt so badly, she'd be up and running – to hell with what the doctors said.

Brandi, enraptured with the newest member of the family, was across the room rocking him slowly back and forth. Peter occupied the chair nearest to the bed, drinking coffee. It smelled so good Mary's mouth was watering. Talk about everything being right with the world.

"Hey Squish – come on! Give me half a second here!"

"What?" she cooed, rubbing noses with the baby.

"Brandi…really."

"Okay-okay…" she conceded defeat, walking over to Peter. "Here honey, will you take him?"

"My pleasure," Peter replied as the infant was passed between them, Peter shifting his coffee cup to the end table. Mary fought not to steal it and drink the whole thing down in one gulp.

Brandi sat at Mary's feet, being conscientious of disrupting her stitches and tucked her legs under her.

"What is it?"

"Well, you know…" Mary gestured with her hands, as though hoping this would help the words escape. "The moppet still needs a name."

"Seriously, Mary? Moppet? Come on, he's a person now, not just some parasite invading your uterus."

"Exactly!" Mary surprised her by agreeing. "Which is why he's got to have a moniker. Listen Squish…I know he's gonna be taking up residence in your home. You're gonna be changing his diapers and getting up every hour…"

"If you're trying to scare me into backing out, it's not gonna work," Brandi said in an annoying sing-song voice.

"But…" Mary plowed through as if there had been no interruption. "Can I name him?"

The question seemed to hang in the air, floating above their heads in a bubble just waiting to burst. But in reality, Brandi was popping it without a second thought.

"Of course you can name him!" she emitted a loud, no-nonsense laugh that caused their son to stir. "Mary, he's not out of your life. He's still your baby."

"I agree," Peter chimed in while the little one calmed down after Brandi's declaration. "So what's it gonna be?"

"I can't wait to hear," Brandi said excitedly.

Mary had thought about this very carefully throughout her nine months, on the off-chance she kept him or, by some miracle, the Templeton's let her name their child. Her opinions on names – especially stupid trendy ones – ranged far and wide. No way was her kid going to be walking around with a handle like, "Blaine" or "Ryder." Yet, when she tried to place him with a nice, normal name, none of them seemed to fit. Her choice was the only one that made sense.

"Stanley," Mary stated simply. "I know it's kind of old school, but…"

"It's perfect," Peter said instantly. "I love it. Although, I have to admit; Pigmy Shannon had a nice ring to it."

Mary tried not to grin.

"I think it's great," Brandi smiled warmly. "Stan's gonna be really happy. He's practically grandpa anyway."

That was exactly what Mary had been thinking.

**A/N: Okay…so I know that Stan is really not old enough to be a "grandpa." Especially when you consider the spread between Mary McCormack and Paul Ben-Victor, but he does act as a sort of fatherly-figure, stern with his inspectors when he needs to be and taking care of them too. I know a lot of explanations are coming out during the last parts of this, but I am hoping that even with the leeway I have taken, I haven't written anyone too out-of-character. **

**Two parts left!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Do not own In Plain Sight.**

The day stretched on to a place it was difficult to discern where the old one stopped and the new one began. Mary slept on and off at the other's request. Brandi, Peter, and Jinx were still the only ones she'd seen; the others had to return to work even though it was the middle of the night.

But the surprises never ended. She didn't know which shocked her more – her cell ringing at midnight and hearing Eleanor's voice on the other end. Or Mark showing up at half past three with hurried apologies about being late, not to mention wreaking of cigar smoke and beer.

"I really wasn't doing anything," he promised. "But when Brandi called I was at a club doing an air conditioning install and…well, you know how cigar smoke sticks to you…"

Mary had waved away the excuses. He'd accepted her decision to give the baby to Brandi and Peter with such grace; she decided he could do whatever he wanted for the next lifetime.

"I just want to know him, Mary," he said. "And I want him to know me. If I ever made you think that I'd just walk away…"

"We've both got some manning up to do here, Mark," she admitted. "But it's like I told Brandi. Two parents who not only love him but each other – sap and sentiment be damned, I want him to have the kind of childhood I never did. He's still on his first chance; I'm on my second."

"How do you figure?" he laughed, undoubtedly ready to list all of Mary's screw-ups front-to-back.

"Cut me some slack; I'm on about six different drugs," she shrugged, but found herself laughing too.

With assurances of what promised to be one wacky first year, Mark held Stanley in his arms, saying he was as good looking as Mary and was sure to have Brandi's charm. Then he was off to make hotel arrangements to stay in town at least until Mary was released from the hospital.

It wasn't until the sun was coming up around six A.M. that the two faces Mary most longed to see returned, looking exhausted but deliriously happy.

Stanley was snoozing in the rolling bassinet from the nursery; Mary sat up and greeted them both, for a moment forgetting in her eagerness that her stitches would pull. She managed to hide it and fed them the most dazzling smile she could muster.

"Stan the man!" she exclaimed. "At the crack of dawn…you're looking pretty good in this light, old timer."

He and Marshall both chuckled, Marshall heading straight for the bassinet to swoon over the little one.

"Haven't you guys gone home yet?" Mary asked. "How long have you been up?"

"Duty calls," Marshall replied, lifting Stanley out of his bed and adjusting the blankets around him.

It couldn't have been plainer that he was thrilled the baby was still in their lives; he would get to play the doting uncle after all. He brushed his round cheeks with a tender finger, shifted the tiny hat upon his head.

"We didn't want to put head to pillow until we saw you right after a harrowing delivery. It makes for good blackmail material," Marshall continued.

Mary scoffed, not even wanting to imagine how she must look as Marshall took a seat next to the bed.

"Don't listen to him, Mary," Stan corrected the other man. "You're holding up like a hero."

"He thinks I'm a hero," Mary gushed, smirking arrogantly at Marshall. He made an indistinct noise in his throat, eyes still on the baby.

"Never mind that we have been, as you said, 'pushing them out since time began…'" he said in an undertone.

"More than a hero…" Stan murmured, ignoring Marshall.

Mary knew what was coming. He stepped over to the bed and ran his hand over her hair. Smiling softly down at her, his eyes sparkled with a strange light Mary had never really noticed before. But there was something comforting and familiar about it just the same; like a glow she'd been looking for all this time if only she'd cared to search far enough.

"Brandi told me what you named him," Stan said deeply, eyes still locked with hers.

Mary nodded, a quiet smile playing about her lips.

"I'm honored, sweetheart."

Mary choked up without warning as Stan kissed her head, giving her hair a few more gentle pats. In the back of her mind, she knew what had caused the wave of unexpected emotion. Sweetheart…

"I love it," Marshall chuckled, not even noticing the exchange. "Stanley Shannon. He's even got the bald patch to match."

Mary laughed too, her throat cottony and tight. Stan seemed to sense she was unpredictably moved and, knowing her as he did, helped her hide it by rubbing her back tenderly while she concealed the tears from Marshall.

"Think you're up to the task, grandpa?" she asked, half-joking, half-serious, sniffling quickly. "I mean…God knows James isn't up to the job."

An uncomfortable silence fell, Stan's hand sliding off her back. Marshall looked up, glancing to his boss for guidance. It was the first time Mary had mentioned her father since their visit. It was impossible that-that had been only twenty-four hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

"Mary, I don't…I don't want to take the place…" Stan fumbled.

"Don't read too much into it," Mary said quietly. "You're in – he's out. I've got the pigmy with the namesake to prove it."

All three of them laughed then, the awkward spell broken; tension evaporated and floating, as though on wind, right out the window.

"Hey, speaking of," Marshall spoke up. "How come Stan here gets all the glory? Personally, I think Marshall Shannon has a soft, but sophisticated quality to it."

"Oh, spare me," Mary pretended to gag. "What if he turns out like me?"

"That'd be a sad day for everyone…" Stan teased.

"I mean!" Mary interjected as Marshall chortled. "We'd have another Marshal Marshall on our hands. And with Socrates here in the picture, I can't be too sure that won't happen. Best to play it safe."

Marshall was looking amused, and also defeated.

"All right, all right; Stanley it is then," he said, trying it on for size. "Does he have a middle name?"

"Joseph," Mary reported. "Brandi picked that one."

"Aw…" Marshall said with his usual smirk. "Mary and Joseph."

"Okay Poindexter; just reign in the religious references. I've got enough on my mind."

Stan smiled at their childish byplay, and then turned back to Mary.

"All right inspector…unfortunately, I have to get home and change before I head back to the office," he said.

"Understood," Mary nodded.

Stan stuck out his hand to shake. Mary grinned and grasped his fingers firmly in hers, but then waggled her own, indicating for him to lean in. Pretending the formalities were still in place at this point just seemed like a waste. Stan pitched forward and Mary planted a kiss on his head without another word.

"See you Monday?" he asked on his way to the door, turning right back into her easygoing but no-nonsense boss.

"Eight o'clock."

"Copy that," with a wink and a wave over his shoulder, he was gone.

In Stan's absence, Mary and Marshall sat in a more comfortable silence – two best friends, compadres, partners, arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand for life. Mary was watching him with her son, the little boy dressed in pale blue, his big eyes on the gentle hands that held him. Marshall was a natural. So fitting.

"How are your stitches?" he asked, ever the expert. "C-section recovery can be kind of intense."

"No picnic," Mary answered truthfully. "But I've had worse."

Relieved to hear, Marshall turned his attention back to the baby.

"He's beautiful, Mare," he beamed down at him, obviously completely sucked in to the wonder of a new being landed on the earth, multiplied by the fact that he'd come from the person he cared about most.

"You mentioned that," Mary chuckled, referring to his reiteration about the look of her child. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to seriously shelter him from all the useless information you are sure to throw his way as the years go by. I can't have him teasing me in Italian before the age of ten."

Marshall laughed, knowing she didn't mean it, but also knowing she did. It was always hard to tell with Mary.

"Can I just tell you…?" he began.

"Don't know why you ask; you're gonna do it anyway."

"This choice is a good one. I mean, I have no doubt whatsoever you could brave the journey of motherhood but…I gotta admit…I would've missed my partner."

"Who says I would've given up the job?" Mary exploded, ready to argue at once.

"No one; I just meant…"

"Oh, I know what you meant," she nodded knowingly. "You meant I'd go all soft with a rugrat running around; well I've got news for you buddy…"

"The case is moot," Marshall held up a hand, the other around the baby. "He stays, you stay…Brandi and Peter are gonna keep him safe and give him a home while you're out…defending the free world with your…faithful sidekick."

If he'd had a hat he would've tipped it. As it was, he flicked the patch of his hair that stuck up in front, causing Mary to grin against her will. He allowed Stanley to grasp his finger lightly, a merry smile pasted on as though nothing could wipe it away. It was this that spurred Mary to speak.

"Hey Marshall…I've got to ask you something," she said suddenly.

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't really want to but…something tells me you'll bring it up at a later date and I'd just as soon get the embarrassing conversation out of the way now," she prattled on.

"Oh…kay…" Marshall said slowly, not sure where this was going, managing to tear his gaze away from the baby for a moment.

Mary swallowed hard, prepared to accept whatever answer he gave. She wasn't used to spilling her guts like this. Stan's birthday was going to go down in history in more ways than one.

"When I went into labor and I was passing out…"

"Yeah?"

"Did you…"

He had a feeling he knew what she was talking about.

"This was before the ambulance got there…"

She was stalling.

"But…did you say that…you loved me?"

It was Marshall's turn to swallow hard. He shifted his focus back to little Stanley in his arms; his face was so perfect and unspoiled, so soft and handsome. Apparently, he let it take him too far.

"Marshall, did you?" Mary prompted impatiently.

He couldn't lie.

"Well…Mary…I do love you. You know that."

"But…Marshall…"

She couldn't pretend there wasn't something vastly different about the way it had come out only twelve hours before. She knew Marshall couldn't either. Not forever.

"What about you?" Marshall decided to turn the question around on her.

"What about me?"

"Well Mary…you're my best friend, and…"

"And what?"

He simply met her gaze, long and hard. He didn't need to say anything more.

After a moment, Mary spoke, choosing her words carefully.

"What about Abigail?" she whispered.

"I think she knows," Marshall replied simply.

Mary nodded. What next? All the uncertainty was supposed to be over. Done. But now…

"You're the best friend I've ever had, Marshall," she said softly, looking steadily into his face.

Staring down the barrel of the gun.

"Same goes," Marshall agreed.

Even for Mary, who didn't believe in signs, could sense there was something going on. Some cosmic understanding, a universal alignment that told her whatever was bound to happen was supposed to, one way or the other.

"I can't change for you Marshall…" Mary muttered. "I'm not some…Susie Sunshine that's gonna become a housewife just because she finally found love. I just gave my baby to my kid sister. That's some screwed up shit."

Marshall leaned in, all seriousness, placing a hand in her lap. She was close to crying.

"I would never want that," he shook his head. "Call me crazy, but I kind of like things the way they are. The barbs, the back-and-forth…nobody makes my blood pound the way you do," he grinned, like it was turning him on.

"And that gets you all hot and bothered – me being a total pain in the ass," Mary tried to confirm, skeptical as she'd ever been.

Marshall laughed, still inches from her face, hand still in her lap.

"Well…I can't pretend a solid stab at some kind of…relationship…"

"Don't say relationship," Mary pointed a threatening finger.

"Union. Joining of souls and minds. Better?" Marshall supplied.

"No, not really," Mary said grouchily.

"I can't pretend a solid stab at some kind of relationship," he repeated. "Wouldn't come with some perks not often explored in our working office-romance."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively. Mary's instinct was to pounce all over that description but, more than anything, she was realizing about Marshall something she should've realized a long time ago. He understood everything about her, warts and all, and he was still here. She didn't even need one hand to count the number of people who had that kind of loyalty.

"None of the old rules apply, Mary," he was saying.

Stanley sighed contentedly from his spot in Marshall's arms. His tiny little lids were closing as he chewed slowly on his finger, his cheeks rosy red, cherub-like and chubby. Marshall waggled his fingers in his face, adoration alight in his eyes.

Without thinking, Mary leaned forward, her lips brushing his, soft and slow. It was all warmth and comfort. And, beneath it a bliss Mary had only first felt again hours ago when her son was placed in her arms. When they parted, Marshall was grinning. Not his usual, playful smirk but an honest-to-goodness smile – one full of happiness and anticipation.

"I love you, Mary," he admitted, completely plainspoken and direct, no waver or hesitation.

But, that was Marshal Marshall Mann.

"You doofus…"

Mary giggled – actually giggled. A ribbon tied around her heart, cinching two shattered pieces together. The effect was instantaneous, pure and unrivaled joy.

"A guy with brains like yours, and you don't know I love you too."

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the way I wrapped this up. It just felt like too much of a cliché to have Mary "live happily ever after" in terms of getting together with Marshall AND keeping the baby. Between the two of them, they're going to be in the line of fire day in and out and I don't think either one is prepared to give it up. But this way, they get to be in Stanley's life and know him while Brandi and Peter give him the home and the stability he needs. Stay tuned for my fluff of an ending!**


	26. Epilogue

**A/N: Think Leo Billups' adoption party; circa season one to get the feel here. Other than that…let your imagination run wild.**

**Epilogue**

_When I was seven years old, all I wanted was to be what everyone around me called, "normal." Parents together, Sunday family dinners, a sister who wanted to grow up to be just like me, not without the occasional bickering of course. Instead, I watched other families sneer at my predicament at being left to a black-out-drunk and a little girl who tagged around after me because she needed to stay alive, not because she worshipped the ground I walked on. I would lie in bed at night, wishing on stars, hugging Biscuit, daddy's letter tucked under my pillow and praying that someday I would have what everyone else did. That if I was a good girl, if I ate my broccoli and went to school and made my bed every day, someone somewhere would see me and think I deserved the standard life with gold picture frames and checkered tablecloths. But it only took me until I was ten to realize that "normal" just wasn't meant for me._

It was so hot the windows were practically steaming up. No matter how high Marshall cranked the air conditioning, Mary still wasn't satisfied.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, reaching for the dial. Marshall smacked her hand away.

"You have to give it more than five seconds."

"I think it's been ten, and I ain't feeling any relief."

"Did you ever stop to think about what 'ain't' means? A contraction of 'are' and 'not?' Do you realize how grammatically incorrect that is?"

"Don't say contraction," Mary snapped. "I'll start having flashbacks."

"Something tells me you'd be having them without my intellectual reference," Marshall mused. "After all, Stanley turning five is bound to bring up some fond memories."

"I don't remember the fainting being particularly note-worthy," his partner snarked.

"You know what I mean," Marshall said seriously, eyeing her over the steering wheel. "Pretend you have a heart. At least for today."

Now she knew he was kidding. As far as Marshall was concerned, she beat like a drum. She caught him looking at the glimmering rock on her fourth finger; it caught the light and shone.

"Engaged," Marshall stated to no one in particular, knowing Mary had seen him glancing.

"Here we go…" Mary muttered.

"Such a multi-faceted word," he dictated. "Busy or occupied. …Involved," he cast her his famous, penetrating stare.

"You were pretty busy last night…" Mary muttered, fiddling with the ring to avoid meeting his eyes.

That shut him up quick, but he did laugh.

"You sure I shouldn't have…you know…got down on one knee…"

"Please, no," Mary shook her head, wrinkling her nose. "Marshall, we've been over this twenty times. Unconventional is our game. Why do you think you waited so long to pop the question?"

"Why do you think you _made_ me wait so long, would be a better question…"

Mary opened her mouth to respond to this accusation, when Marshall pulled into a slot at the park. In the distance was an enormous bounce-house, balloons tied to trees and picnic tables, obstacle courses and carnival games set up on the huge expanse of lawn. Behind all this was a playground structure where a few lonely children watched the party with wistful looks on their faces.

Marshall had to pretend not to notice the glimmer in Mary's eyes, the way she threw open the door before he'd even cut the engine, the way she took double her stride to get to the celebration. As expected, he hung back and let her venture on her own. He might be her future husband, but few things had changed between them. He'd meant what he said when he'd told her how comfortable he was with their original arrangement.

With every step, more came into Mary's line of vision. Brandi handing out party favors to the little heathens running around, patting their heads and doting like some PTA room mother. Peter at the grill, flipping hot dogs over his shoulder to a crowd of squealing little boys that actually picked them up off the ground, taking hearty bites. There was Jinx, dancing to some trendy hip-hop song playing on the speakers, little girls bouncing at her ankles.

And out of the bounce-house slid a little boy, shaggy honey-blonde hair hanging in his jade-green eyes. He was wearing jeans and a red and white striped T-shirt, topped off with bright yellow Converse All Star sneakers. His face bore a silly, mischievous little smirk, his cheeks flushed from the heat, grass in his hair.

And then he looked up. He beamed and began to run.

"MARY!"

Not even realizing she was doing it, Mary smiled and picked up the pace. She was almost running too; closer and closer, faster and faster until he was two feet in front of her and she held out her arms.

"Stan the man!" she shouted, hoisting him up with ease.

He gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, a favor Mary did not return but appreciated nonetheless.

"Happy fifth, kid. You know what happens when you turn five, right?"

"What?"

He narrowed his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. It was uncanny.

"…Guess you'll have to find out," she shrugged, knowing no answer would satisfy him anyway.

Stan threw his arms around her neck, clearly not done with his greeting. But this touching moment didn't last long before Stan was wiggling to be released, obviously having spotted someone else over Mary's shoulder.

"Marshall's here!"

He crashed to the ground, but pushed himself back up with reflexes like a cat and bolted behind Mary. She turned just long enough to see Marshall pick him up too, but it was he who gave the kiss this time, and handed him his gift – a light-up sword wrapped in shiny red paper.

Deciding to let the men have their bonding moment, Mary headed in to say hello to Brandi.

"You finally made it," Brandi greeted her in mock-exasperation, trapping a pile of paper napkins underneath a jug of lemonade to keep them from blowing away. "Took you long enough."

"Hey, you want to trade places – be my guest," Mary offered with a wave of her hand.

It took her a second to realize the irony of this statement, but she didn't bring it up.

"Where's Stan?" Brandi asked, peering over heads to search for her son.

"Doofus has him," Mary reported. "Compared, I'm a blip on the radar. Who can blame him? That get-up – the cowboy boots, the pinstripes – he's like the eighth wonder of the world."

"You don't fool me," Brandi shook her head with a stupid grin on her face.

"Think what you like," Mary shrugged.

Carelessly, Mary allowed her hand to pass under Brandi's nose reaching for a hot dog. Brandi snatched it off the bun, eyes inches from the shining stone as though planning to appraise it.

"He finally asked you?" she exclaimed.

"Something like that," Mary made an attempt at nonchalance, pulling her fingers back, shamelessly trying to shelter the ring with her other hand.

"Oh Mary!" Brandi squealed, flinging her arms around her and jumping up and down.

Mary, mildly disgusted, pushed her away but her goofy grin refused to fade.

"It happens every day in every country in the world, Squish," she said. "Don't make such a fuss."

"Well okay…" Brandi replied deviously. "But you'll have a hard time convincing Stan it's no big deal. He'll be really excited."

She knew Brandi was right. But his excitement didn't exactly bother Mary.

"I can't believe the kind of lifestyle we're inflicting on this kid," Mary continued, piling her plate with potato chips.

"Why?" Brandi asked, taking a chip herself and crunching loudly. "He knows the drill – who you really are, who I am, how it all came to be and why. But this is mundane as far as he's concerned. He's happy. That's what matters, right?"

"I think I liked you better when you were a ditz," Mary remarked around a mouthful of cupcake.

Brandi laughed. This was the game they played. It was in Mary's nature to pretend things were royally screwed up. But Brandi knew her sister had more than come to terms with their situation. She'd be old and grey before she admitted to it – and maybe not even then.

Thinking about all this, Brandi giggled and kissed Mary's cheek affectionately.

"I love you, Mary."

"You too, Squish."

Suddenly, Marshall and Stanley were back at her side, Stan still in Marshall's arms, rumpling his hair. Marshall tickled his ribs, causing Stan to shout with laughter and jump to the ground. He waved his new sword frantically in the air, succeeding in whacking Marshall a few times unintentionally.

"Stan honey, you opened it already?" Brandi moaned. "You were supposed to wait until we had cake."

"Aw mom – come on! Marshall said it was okay!"

"Uh…guilty," Marshall said, raising his hand indistinctly. "Sorry."

"Hey dad, check out what Marshall got me!" Stan proclaimed, flashing the sword Peter's direction.

Peter turned briefly, trying to keep an eye on the grilling.

"Very cool, son. I think I had one a lot like that when I was a kid. I bet Grandma and Grandpa still have it; we should look next time we visit."

"Do you have one Marshall?" Stan wanted to know, his eyes wide. "You and dad and I could battle!" and he actually took a step forward and flung the object in front of him, as though sword-fighting.

Everyone laughed; Mary smiled watching him while the others chuckled loudly.

"Mary, is Mark coming?" Stan suddenly asked, leaving the toy at his side for the moment, forgetting to listen to Marshall's answer.

"I'm not sure, bud," she answered truthfully. "He's been really busy this week. If he can't get here today, I think he'll try to come see you this weekend. And that goes for Big Stan too."

"Although Big Stan did want us to mention that thanks to you, he has the best alias in the world. And it makes his life complete," Marshall chimed in.

"Cause he's super short?"

"Uh…height-challenged. But basically – yeah," Marshall conceded.

Little Stanley shrugged, the frivolity of the birthday party capturing his attention once more, all thoughts of Mark and his namesake forgotten.

"Mom, did you get ice cream cake? It has the most chocolate in it; all those other ones have like…none."

It was Mary's turn to laugh – he was a good eater. Without thinking, she reached over to brush the grass out of his hair and the band on her finger shimmered in the afternoon sun. This time, Brandi wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Look!" Stan pointed, yanking Mary's hand into his own. "Look at this girly ring!" he proclaimed with disdain, flashing it this way and that so Marshall and Brandi could see. "Who made you wear it?"

"Believe it or not, nobody," Mary answered, strangely endeared by his loathing for the femininity of the whole thing. "Except Marshall."

"Why would you do that?" Stan wanted to know, appealing to his honorary uncle for an explanation.

For the second time that day, Mary wondered if the boy would be at all impressed with the response. Still, this was different - maybe beyond his expectations.

The two partners exchanged glances. Now was as good a time as any. Mary gave Marshall the tiniest of nods, signaling her approval.

"Well…" Marshall crouched down, face-to-face with the five-year-old. "A ring is usually an acceptable item of jewelry when one gets married."

"You're getting married?" Stan exclaimed, looking from Marshall to Mary and back again, hardly daring to believe it.

Marshall couldn't keep the joyous laugh out of his voice; he stood and put his arm around Mary. She was much better at letting him and actually managed to slink her own arm around his back, squeezing his side.

"We are," Mary admitted, cocking her head to the right.

"Finally!" Stan burst unexpectedly, throwing up his hands. "You've been hanging out together forever!"

"Well, at least somebody agrees with me!" Brandi said, dropping a kiss onto her son's forehead.

"Oh mom!" Stan's focus suddenly shifted. "Luke is here!" he pointed to a little boy who had just run onto the playground.

"Well, you better go say hi!" Brandi told him.

Stan turned to go but Mary, almost without knowing she was doing it, called out to him before he slipped away.

"Hey kid!" she shouted to his retreating back. He turned and in seeing his face, Mary was struck by the handle she'd just adorned him.

Kid. Moppet. Pigmy. Five years exactly.

"Looks like you're gonna have a busy day and Marshall and I will have to get back to work soon…"

Stan slowly turned and headed in towards Mary, his eyes looking slightly more melancholy as he heard the news.

"You have to catch some bad guys?" he asked.

Mary took both his hands in her own. They were big and strong, round palms and long fingers.

"Yeah, we do," she admitted, knowing he thought her and Marshall were glorified policemen. It was probably the only part of his life that wasn't the unvarnished truth.

Stan's eyes fell to the badge on her belt; it was partially hidden by her shirt but somehow, he always seemed to know it was there. He reached out and pulled back the hem, the star reflecting in the sun. He extended five little fingers and touched it, tracing the points: up, down, across, and down again. In some ways, he really was Mary's own little witness. Protect and relocate.

"You have a great birthday, man," she said sincerely. "When I think about where I was five years ago…"

Part of her wanted to go on, but part of it didn't seem to matter as much. Somehow, Stan always understood, no matter what she said.

"Well…let's just say…it was quite a day," she finished with a chuckle. "And hey…"

She turned from her kneeling position. Marshall, reading her mind, pulled a smaller package from inside his jacket pocket, a little larger than a jewelry box. He handed it to her without a word.

"You got me another present?" Stan asked as Mary placed it in his hands.

"Just a small one," she winked. "You're not gonna be some spoiled brat on my account."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

He cast his big green eyes to Brandi, silently asking for consent to open it. She nodded and he tore off the paper, tossing the royal blue ribbon to the ground, lifting the top of the box.

He gasped and his mouth fell open in a gaping smile.

"Oh – cool!" he said, his voice hushed and full of wonder.

Tissue paper falling in the grass, he pulled out a shining silver badge, a five-point star mounted upon a circle, "US Marshals" printed in tiny letters across the top.

"It's just like yours!" he said, as though she didn't know.

Smiling, Mary slipped it out of his hand and set pinning it inside the loops of his belt, securing it so it wouldn't fall off.

"You know that I wish I could be with you more," she said. "And this will help you remember that I always am – even if you can't see me."

"I know," he said. "Mom tells me that all the time. Thanks Mary."

He smiled briefly and then put his arms around her. This was one thing it seemed he'd acquired all on his own – never mind blood or biology or DNA. He was more loveable and more giving than just about anyone; Shannon, Alpert, Mann or otherwise. Holding him in her arms, Mary was reminded, as though it were yesterday, seeing him stare up at her in that hospital room, Marshall by her side.

"Be safe, okay?" she whispered.

Translation.

"Love you too," Stan murmured.

Mary gave him a quick pat, and then let him go. Tearing off to the playground on his spindly little legs, greeting his friends, laughing and shouting just like all the others. Mary couldn't look away, even after Marshall took her hand and pulled her to his side. She expected to feel guilt, regret, even that resentment she had so aptly feared. But she didn't. There was gratitude and contentment. And beneath that, delight…and satsifaction.

_At seven years old, my only dream was to be ordinary. Saturday afternoon baseball games, school plays, first place in the spelling bee. But eventually I learned, like anything else, that normal is simply a state of mind. I spend every day helping those achieve what they deem to be impossible – a fresh, new normal. They don't believe it can happen without vacations to the lake and road trips with the family, radio blaring some ridiculous pop song. But then I remember my struggle to achieve what is regular. My father left home. I got married when I was seventeen and foolish. It took a collision of drastic magnitude for me to realize what's normal isn't at all. I took care of my mother. I raised my sister. And now she's raising my son. At forty-one, some twenty odd years after most find happiness, I am marrying a man I'm not afraid to spend the rest of my life with. He lets me insult him day in and day out. He loves it. It's only then that I realize anybody who tries to label anything normal has to know…it is seriously overrated. _

**A/N: THE END! Thank-you so much to everyone who has reviewed and given me such positive feedback. It's been fun, folks!**


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